


Exeunt

by Singe_Addams



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Angst and Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-16 21:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2285727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singe_Addams/pseuds/Singe_Addams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all gotta go sometime. Here's how the Ghostbusters went. </p><p> </p><p>Dedicated to Nugatory because she rocks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

******Never send to know for whom the bell tolls.  
It tolls for thee.*****

The gardens looked like they were grown at gunpoint. Janine Melnitz took a picture of Illset Estate's grounds and tried not to groan with pity. She'd tagged along with the guys for this? The Ghostbusters, in full battle kit with throwers drawn, were eye-searingly out of place in this pinched and exact place but the contrast was welcome. Her friends looked worn and warm and alive and human. She took a picture of them, too. She could have sworn Peter Venkman was too far away to hear the click aimed in his direction but he spun around and struck a Mighty Man pose for her. She laughed and took another. Then she heard a sigh to her right and realized she was neglecting their client. “Very nice place. Very, ah, neat,” she lied to him, their reluctant guide who was trying very hard to lead from the rear.

“I'm so glad it meets with your approval,” Chamswoth Gregory St. John Illset said, without turning towards her. Janine envisaged his loser head exploding and kept her temper. 

Peter didn't. He turned around again and smiled like a shark. “It looks like a crew of obsessive compulsives went quietly mad and died in here,” he said, waving his thrower at the flowers as if to raze the poor things and put them out of their rigid misery. 

Illset was stung. “The majority don't have the ability to appreciate a fine, formal garden.” 

Mr. Pedigree had everyone's attention now but Janine launched first. “You'll have to show us one someday.”

He turned to her and screamed bloody murder. A high-pitched “EEEEEEEE!” that she'd never heard outside of Warner Brothers cartoons. Janine blinked and drew back her arm to feed him her camera. “There she is!” Illset shouted, pointing a trembling finger just to her left. “The Gwrach-y-rhibyn! She's back, she's back!” 

“The Grakky Ribbon?” Janine dropped her arm, turned, and there, standing calmly almost shoulder to shoulder with her, was the ugliest old hag the Ghostbusters'd ever seen. (And considering their long history with hags that was saying something.) She had wild hair, an enormous honker of a nose, and piercing black eyes as per all basic hag specs. The tusks were new, though. Her black cloak rippled and revealed itself to be wings folded flat across her back and covered in over-lapping scales. Very new as well. A grey, ragged robe wrapped her body. Janine froze in terror...then amended her reaction by congratulating herself on wisely keeping still. 

They all looked at the hag. She looked at them. 

“Seriously,” Peter went on. “Egon's yogurt culture is jollier than this place.”

“That's gratifying, Peter,” Egon Spengler took a quick reading with his PKE meter and it screamed bloody murder, too. Egon cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon,” he said and put it away. The creature cocked her head like a crow at that. She glanced at Janine. Aunt Enid! Aunt Enid all over. Janine smiled, she couldn't help it. The thing looked like her hairy Aunt Enid and she didn't exactly radiate evil. She was just watching them all carefully. Well, of course she would. Four men with what could be powerful weapons, one panicked idiot, and a woman with a camera. The horror, the horror... but it would be nice to not have a fight for once. 

“Hello,” Janine said. “I'm Janine Mel...”

“Shoot her, shoot her, shoot her!” Illset yowled. Janine glared at him. “Every time one of us is about to die she's there! She's come for me! She's come for _meeeeeee!”_

They looked at her. She looked at them. 

“Yyyyeah, it's not right,” Ray Stantz said, clearly a man in hell. “Live, green things shouldn't be measured out into cold little lines and parcels like this. And they're not growing well.” Janine smothered a laugh as Illset stared at them all, appalled. The Ghostbusters casually formed a ragged semicircle before his personal nightmare as they insulted the foliage and kicked at the grass that was exactly 2.5 inches tall. To indicate peaceful intentions Janine stayed where she was, by the creature's side, but she knew how, and when, to hit the deck if she had to.

Only Winston Zeddemore decided not to play. He was studying the...the Graaack Ptooie closely. His thrower was held firmly in his hands but he was calm. When the hag's sharp gaze took him in he nodded to her. To Janine's surprise the crone nodded back. It was like watching two old warriors acknowledge each other. Which was exactly what it was, duh.

“I'm paying you to do something!” Illset howled. No one moved. “Kill it!”

The crone spoke then with a voice that was raw but strangely soft and completely unhampered by the ivory in her mouth. “No need,” she said. “The Illsets will see me no more. As of tonight there'll be no more Illsets to see.”

“She's threatening me!”

“Nay,” she answered. “The last Illset will go soon. He's tired and ready.” She indicated the great Georgian mansion on the other side of the grounds. “James Creedmore Croesus Illset is a fine man and a brave one. With his leavin' a great family has ended as well as it began.”

Janine believed her immediately and was saddened. “Oh, he did look ill, but not that ill,” she whispered and her friends, to a man, nodded, and looked grim. The old fellow had been charming and warm, though too weak to stand up from his comfortable armchair to welcome them. For which he apologized. A far, classy cry from his snot-rag son. 

Who displayed his priorities immediately. “My father? Not me? Oh, thank god.” He sagged with relief while the others stared at him in wonderment and disgust. Then he blinked as an actual thought appeared in his brain. “Wait, how can Father be the last Illset when I'm standing right here?”

The hag shrugged and her eyes gleamed. “Ask thy mother.” 

“Oop,” Janine said and all the Ghostbusters grinned, gasped, or winced. Illset's face boiled red and his mouth hung open. The Gwrach-y-rhibyn extended her scaly wings and gave them a leisurely flap. Mr. 'Pedigree' broke and ran. Ran like hell out of the gardens and towards the road, away, away from the manor and all the _things_ inside and outside. The hag folded her wings again and sneered. When you have tusks you can put on one fantastic sneer.

She said, “Muck. And won't he be surprised when the will's read. James never forgave him for what he did to the place while he was in hospital.” Everyone looked around and muttered agreement. 

Then Peter cut his eyes at her. They were bright with mischief. “That's why you're out here instead of in there. To give James some peace from the kid! That's beautiful of you.”

The hag was surprised, with a veneer of being impressed, but she let Peter's accusation, and the compliment, pass. “I'm leavin' now,” she suddenly announced and spread her wings.

“Wait! If you don't mind,” Egon began and she cocked her head at him again. Janine sensed genuine amusement from the old (bat? bird?) biddie. Perhaps she enjoyed not being met with horror and awe. “Where will you go?” Egon asked. “And who are you? Your title is Welsh. It translates as the Hag of the Mists or, more accurately, the Hag of the Dribble. And I would like to know...”

“Dribble? She's not dribbling.”

“I don't mean drooling, I mean a light rain. We in the States would say drizzling. There's a great deal of drizzle in Wales.”

“Aye, that there is.” The Gwrach-y-rhibyn shuddered and then she actually smiled, her face softening as she relaxed. “Ye're just curious then.”

“Aye. I mean, yes.”

“Yes,” Ray eagerly agreed and holstered his thrower over his back. “We're scholars. Doctors. We're not just mad ghost-hunters, I promise. Let's get to know each other!” He spread his open hands.

“Ye want to be friends?”

“Sure!” Ray answered at once. “Come home to the firehouse. Since, y'know, you seem to be finished here.”

“Go _home_ with ye, no less.” She smiled again and Janine saw her Aunt Enid so clearly it made her heart ache. Old Aunt Enid teasing the kids. But the hag had a gloom on her that Aunt Enid never did and she slowly shook her head. “I don't make friends, me. Not for very long,” She looked from one to the other again and Janine had a sensation of being weighed by someone very old, and very strong, and eternally sad. She felt like an infant under that appraisal and her right foot, completely against her will, scuffed the grass. The creature seemed to come to a decision and straightened. “I will say I do like all of ye, though. Not stupid and not bleedin' cowards. And kind. Another fine family, certainly. ”

“Oh, no,” Winston breathed so low Janine barely heard him.

“Oh, yes. I _will_ pay ye a visit. Five visits.” She spread her dark wings wide. “And when ye see me ye'll know that it's time. Time to make ready.”

“Ready for wha...?” Ray began and ducked as she disappeared, her backdraft nearly blowing him off his feet. Janine toppled and ruined the crabbed uniformity of a bed of growths. The beat of invisible wings faded away to leave a whirlwind of grass, leaves, and flower petals to settle over the wide-eyed group. Ray slowly picked himself up. “Oh. Be ready. Okay.” He walked over and gave Janine a hand up. Egon took readings but the PKE meter was silent. Peter and Winston stood very still, one with his hand over his mouth and the other with his hand over his eyes. No third monkey was forthcoming. Janine brushed herself off.

The five of them silently digested the Grakky Ribbon's parting (shot? curse? gift?) words for quite a while. Finally, Winston sighed and holstered his thrower. “Good god,” he said. “The geometry of this place is totally off. Whatever walks in this garden walks alone.” Again, everyone gave their affirmative to that. 

“C'mon,” Peter said. “Let's go up to the house and say goodbye to the old guy.” He turned and walked away. The others followed.


	2. Reach for the Sky

.

***** “Live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse.” *****

Foot-long claws scraped and thrashed against the heavy oak of the door Peter Venkman and his pair of trainee Ghostbusters were cowering behind. They'd been on a casual walk-'n-talk through a local tourist trap, a micro-brewery, when GROWL! SCREECH! RUN! WHAM! SLAM! Mama Venkman's baby boy alone in the dark with two scared kids, one small hip-thrower, no traps, and no radio. By the strong smell of dust and vinegar Peter deduced it was a storage cellar. Anything worth drinking? Maybe being drunk will lessen the pain of being chewed. Not the way he wanted to celebrate his 53rd birthday, damn it. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve.

The heavy flapping of wings in the darkness distracted Peter. Wings?! “What now?” he groaned. 

Trainee Leonie Peck gasped.”We're not alone in here!”

“Oh, god,” her partner, Kenny Carter, groaned.

“Relax,” Peter ordered. “Lee, check your meter. Kenny, give us a light.” 

“Leonie,” the girl corrected automatically and, at the same time came “Ken!” from the boy. Priorities. 

Peter worked up and let loose a belch. “Whatever.” Little shits. 

Ken began to pat down his pockets. He was family, Winston's stepson, and Peter had reservations about family members being on the same team but poor _Ken_ had made no progress at either Ghostbusters on Broadway or Ghostbusters on Staten Island. He'd been sent home to Ghostbuster Central, in disgrace, to dad. Winston was hovering over him with beady eyes which helped not at all. So Uncle Pete, Bossman, chief psychologist, and patron saint of hopeless cases decided to step in. The young man's paralyzing fear was failure and his jumpsuit was stuffed so full of survival gear that he waddled when he walked. He'd never wanted to be anything else but a Ghostbuster but it was hard, so hard, being the child of a legend. So much to live up to. 

Then there was Leonie, frantically stabbing at her wrist-PKE meter, her glasses fogging up, with so much to live down. Her father had gone from bad to criminally worse and she'd taken it upon herself to regain the Peck family honor. Peter had assured her that no, actually, that wasn't her responsibility. She didn't, couldn't, listen. She had to make good, she had to prove herself, she had to become the true hero. Peter could relate more than he'd like to admit. Fear of failure again. Poor kids. If they could just get out of their own way and focus they'd make Ghostbuster, easy. 

Today's walk had been intended to relax them. Heh.

There was a _vip!_ in the dark as Leonie finally hit the right button. Her PKE meter flashed and shrieked. Peter could read, backwards, the green reading reflected in her eyeglasses. The flappy thing wasn't another parasitic Seven, at least. That was a small relief but something so powerful butting in now? What the hell? 

“Sir? It's... not another Seven but...but...I don't know what it is. I don't recognize...” Leonie gasped and panic grew in her eyes. Wood began to splinter around them as the Seven continued to batter and claw the door. 

“Don't worry about identifying it,” Peter answered soothingly. “Look for it.” Leonie bent over her meter. “No, use your eyes, Lee, the meter won't tell you if something's about to land on you.” She flinched and looked up into the darkness. Peter had El Flappo pinpointed already and could afford to be calm. Whatever it was was holding still way over _there_ and Peter was keeping an ear on it. 

A sudden light beam appeared. Ken was casting about with a flashlight. Suddenly he spotted the being or creature or whatever perched on top of a stack of beer barrels. Vaguely womanish, winged, and familiar. Peter cocked his head. Familiar? Wow, where had he met her? He and she suddenly jumped in surprise at Ken's “THERE! UP THERE!” The kid pulled his hip-thrower, aimed, squeezed the trigger...nothing happened.

Peter reached out and gently lowered Ken's arm. “Always try 'hello' first, Ken. And you left the safety on.” 

Mortified, Ken said nothing and dropped his eyes. Too busy beating himself up over his latest 'failure' that he didn't realize he was now the tasty meat in a Monster Sandwich. Leonie did, however. She frantically looked from the beer barrels to the door to the barrels to the door to the barrels... she pulled herself together. “H...hello?” she said as the door behind her cracked and shuddered. Ken woke up to the danger and jumped to her side. 

Peter also stepped forward and as the strange creature locked eyes with his he recognized her. “AAHAAHA, SHIT!” he yelled and doubled over as a broadside of horrified realization, shock, and 53 years of triumphs and regrets hit him. Huh. He'd always thought the Life Flashing Before The Eyes thing was a cliche. Good times, good times. Mostly.

“Uncle Pete?”

“Dr. Venkman!”

He drew in a deep, deep breath, one of the last he'd ever draw, har har, and straightened. First things first. These kids. He had to take care of these kids. But what about his own kids? The twins were going to grow up without a dad. And they were only seven years old, Christ, they'd barely remember him to boot. Poor Jack and Jackie. And poor Skinny Thang, his wife. She'd have to do it all alone. He quickly counted up insurance and estate costs and funeral arrangements and his savings and would she have to go full time into nursing again? Who would take care of the kids if she did? Her family was no help and he was the last of his. She'd have to depend on all their friends. Thank god their friends were dependable. Peter took comfort from that as another wave of regret washed over him. Oh, Skinny Thang the Super-Nurse who'd introduced herself by once saving Janine from Ray and Egon's panicked and amateur first aid. Tall, big-nosed, and so thin that crawling into bed with her was like snuggling a sack of coat hangers but, god, he didn't mind. All over now. They'd only had nine years together. If you didn't count the years he'd spent in hot pursuit. He was going to take her to Paris for their tenth anniversary. Actually, no, he wasn't. Oh, damn. Damn, damn, shit, fuck, hell, frig, piss, damn, damn, DAMN.

_Emergency room desperation! He leaned up on his elbows and tried to kiss her. She turned her head away. “Y'know?” she said as she pushed him back on the gurney. “I've got a fireman in hot pursuit of me, too. And a cop held my hand and tried to convert me, yesterday. You emergency types are all alike. You see a chance of free medical care and lose all control.”_

_“Come with me, 'lil Missy,” Peter John Wayned at her. “I'll give you all the gauze and steri-strips you want!”_

_“Tempting, 'specially with you missing that tooth, Jeb. Now settle back. The doctor will be out in...” She cut off when Peter seized her hair braid which had swung into reach._

_“Y'know,” he said, clutching it to his chest. “If you force me to get serious, I'll get serious. And you don't want that.” He dropped his voice as low and ominous as it would go. “I have powerful friends.”_

_“Oooh, I'm skeered!” She thumped his hand with a flick of her middle finger and he let go. “Bert?” she called and a hulking brute leaned into view. “Take over here, I'm transferring myself to Mr. Zeddemore. He's a gentleman.”_

_Peter sulked as she walked out the door. “Okay, but remember, you brought this on yourself!” He flopped back as Bert's shadow fell over him. “At least find my tooth!”_

 

“What is she?” Ken whispered as a hole appeared in the oak door and a gleaming purple eye glared at them through it. Ken gave out a dry, clicking sound as his throat was suddenly too dry to make noise.

Peter snapped to attention again. Combat. Right. “That up there is the Gak...Gurk...that's the Welsh version of an Irish Banshee. And she's all ours.” Peter patted down his jumpsuit until he found a small notepad and a click pen. “Bring the light over here,” he ordered Ken who complied. He began to write quickly and clearly.

“We're going to die,” Leonie said. She sighed deeply once. Then she spoke again and her voice was weary but firm. “I want to write a note, too, when you're done.” She straightened and was calm. Calm at last and Peter was glad to see it. She wouldn't break under pressure after all.

Ken boggled at them both. Then his face went grim. “Oh, hell, no. I'm not dying today.” He put the light on the floor, took out his hip thrower again and very deliberately took the safety off. Again, Peter approved and he also felt justified in what he was about to do. His instinct about these kids had been right. His instincts usually were.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Peter said. “When I say 'ours' I mean the original crew. Me, Ray, Janine, your dad, and Egon. You two are going to survive aaaand,” he signed his note with a flourish. “Congratulations. You've both just graduated. Welcome to the Ghostbusters.” He tore off the note and handed it to Leonie who clamped it between her fingers. “I am the boss and no one can override that. You two can relax now. And as ya'll make a good team I'm keeping you together and transferring you over to...”

“The new station in Chicago?” Leonie breathed, staring at the note.

“Getting you both out of New York will do you good. Less pressure. Less _conjecture_ if you know what I mean. And you can take care of Capone once and for all. Put that in your pocket.” Leonie did. “Give me your thrower,” he ordered. Ken did. The oak door bulged and strained. “I have a plan. Both of you get on each side of the door. When that thing comes crashing in you two pop out while I distract it. Run. Call the station on Main to come catch it.” He cast a sharp eye upwards. “You. Cover their backs.”

“I cannot interfere.”

“Then don't get in their way.” The Hag of the Mists nodded. Peter gave her a disgusted look and put her completely out of his mind. Vulture.

“What about you, Uncle Pete?” 

“I spied a young cowboy, all dressed in white linen,” Peter sang. Ken's face crumpled and in that instant Peter saw the five year old boy who'd been towed into the firehouse by his big sister, Meaghan, both determined to hire the Ghostbusters to protect them from the Bogeyman. They got what they paid for and the poor things never left again, really. They became family. 

Family.

_Peter watched from behind a mailbox as Skinny Thang answered the door. She startled and looked up at one of the few men in New York that was taller than she was. He was wearing a tux and looking very handsome. “Good evening,” he said. “I am Peter Venkman's sincerity. I am personified in the form of one Dr. Egon Spengler, who is not exactly given to hyperbole, flights of fancy, or egg-sucking lies.” Her eyes widened and then she was grinning. It was working! Or she was falling in love. Peter hoped like hell his friend wasn't pulling a Miles Standish over there. “He is desiring, very much, for you to join him in a romance as well as a movie or whatever light pastime floats your boat.”_

_She picked at the doorjamb with her thumbnail. “Er.”_

_Egon earned Peter's eternal gratitude then as the mad scientist made a rare display of physicality. He reached out and touched her on the wrist. “Trust me if no one else. I can vouch for Peter. He's not joking about this. Or you.”_

_And since Egon was an imminently trustworthy and respectable man she hesitated only a moment before nodding her head, almost as if she were hypnotized. “All right,” she said. “I...I like pizza.”_

_Peter burst forth, all smiles. He knew how this was going to go. Knew it almost from the moment they met. Well, about a month after they met. He had not rescued her from a Big Bad so she felt no weird obligation. They were friends so she genuinely knew and liked him at least. Even after seeing him at his worst. He jumped up the stairs. They were going to get married in the Autumn, surrounded by friends and family and beautiful falling leaves. They were going to have two kids. “Jack and Jacqueline,” he said as he thrust out a hand towards her. She cautiously took it._

_“Who?”_

_Egon elbowed him in the ribs. “Ow! I mean, hello, I'm Peter. We're going to have a great time.”_

And they had, too. But he hadn't predicted this sudden ending. Nor any lottery numbers. It wasn't fair. He drew Ken into a one-armed hug and the kid's tears began in earnest. Peter didn't cry. What, was he going to get all weepy for himself? No. He let go and pushed the boy towards the door. “Go. Don't make a sound.” To his surprise Leonie stepped in for a fierce hug and even a kiss, too. Heh. The last touch from a woman he'd ever receive and it was a peck from a Peck.

Life was funny. 

“Go.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Venkman.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She went and the two silently flanked the groaning door. Peter Venkman's final impression of them was of two young, tall soldiers guarding the door to the end of the world. They were going to eat Chicago up. 

Gah, no more food metaphors. Peter picked up the light, moved back, and set himself dead center of the cellar. Dead center, har har, he was rollin' tonight. He put the light at his feet and adjusted it so he'd be the only thing illuminated down here. Peter Venkman, ladies and gentlement! Always in the spotlight. Where there'd be no missing him. Then he braced himself, presenting his side to the upcoming onslaught, and raised his thrower as calm and cool as any gunslinger. He began to sing again, "Swing your rope slowly, rattle your spurs lowly, and give a wild whoop as you carry me along. And in the grave throw me and roll the sod o'er me, for I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong." 

A shower of sharp oak splinters, then, and a roar of noise and a rush of teeth and claws and glowing purple eyes. Peter didn't flinch.

He fired.

 

The pretty newswoman was trying to maintain professionalism but her teeth were clenched and her voice was ragged. “In lieu of flowers the Venkman family asks for donations to be sent to Home Safe, the charity Peter Venkman started and supported, which caters to the needs of the children of convicts.” She breathed deep and smoothed her print-outs for the twentieth time since this breaking news broke. Then she looked intently into the camera. “We here at Channel Five news extend our deepest sympathy and condolences to all of the Ghostbusters and to Dr. Venkman's family.”

“Yes, it's sad,” her co-anchor glibly put in and then ran right over himself with “Stay tuned to Channel Five for further details of the tragedy, world headlines, and Gina Truelove with the weather and traffic. We'll be right back.”

There was a pause and the two relaxed. Clearly, both anchors thought the cameras had gone off. They hadn't, someone was asleep at the switch. New York watched sympathetically as the woman covered her eyes and bowed her head in genuine grief. The man, however, smirked as he straightened his own papers. “I bet it'll be a closed-coffin funeral,” he said to her. “If the bucket-brigade was any indication.” The smog stirred as millions of people gasped with indignation. The woman raised her head again to stare at him. Then all of New York cheered as she leaned over and slapped his mouth out.


	3. Every hero falls.

.

*****“A friend is just an enemy that hasn't attacked yet.”*****

The opera house was huge, baroque, and old with plenty of nooks to hide in or statuary to hide among, in plain sight. Especially if one was as dead and still as the proverbial doorknob which the Phantom was. Yes, of course, the Phantom! He was dead and he was in an opera house, quid pro quo. It was a good lair and the Phantom enjoyed living or, ah, existing within it. So much culture paraded before him, row after row of gilded boxes vibrating with the greatest music and the most celebrated plays, even wild circuses, and he always had the best seat in the house. Hanging from his feet from the center chandelier. Don't laugh, it's a prime spot.

He was currently loitering outside a restroom, leaning against the wall to wait for someone. Anyone. He was hungry. A maggot in human form appeared around the corner and approached. As she passed she gave him the up and down with her eyes and smirked. She liked what she saw. Was she going to throw her hair back and swing her hips like the most common cliche? Yes, she was. She thought she was beautiful. Ah, but the Phantom had never been one to be taken in by appearances and he was even more insightful now, now that he had eyes to see right to the very beating heart of a person. Not that he had to try very hard to see into this one. She radiated a filthy pride. Pride in her thievery, her lies, the thoughtless pain she dealt out to others. She thought she was fierce. She was disgusting. But he was hungry right _now_ and beggars couldn't be choosers.

“Stop,” he commanded. Her feet glued themselves to the floor so fast her arms pinwheeled. She turned around and boggled at him. Suddenly another woman arrived around the same corner and went past him, practically the other's twin in fashion and physical beauty. The maggot was blocking the powder room door and the other paused in concern. “Hello? Are you okay?” she said and there the similarity ended. The Phantom breathed that one in as if she were a gust of fresh mountain air. Ahhh, much better. This was the one. She was good to the bone and strong. She glowed. 

The Phantom cleared his throat as he left the wall and walked forward casually, as a normal man would, mostly to mask his sudden desire. He offhandedly straightened the cuffs of a fine, dark suit he'd gotten off a former, ah, donor. “She's fine,” he said and, looking intently at Madame Maggot, said “Go jump under a bus.”

“Okay.” She turned and left slowly, her shoulders hunched. She didn't hesitate as she trudged on and disappeared. 

The other woman frowned after her. Then she looked up at him in disbelief. He shrugged and smiled. “Excuse me,” she said coldly as she walked around him and into the Ladies'. He could feel her unease, sense her train of thought. Her human instincts were jangling. He dug a little deeper. Ah, her name was Therese. Delicious, beautiful Therese, who lived for others. A literature teacher and English history buff, too. A scholar! Bless her. She hated opera and only went to please her family. Well, no one's perfect.

A small group of men rounded the corner and he leaned against the wall again, looking at his watch. One of the men noticed him and rolled his eyes in sympathy. Why do women take forever in the bathroom? The Phantom shrugged and smiled patiently. Therese reappeared, glowered at him with suspicion, and headed back for her seat. The corridor cleared.

He kept his smile on. _You're lovely,_ he thought at her.

She spun around and lashed out with her clutch purse. There was no one there. The hell? she thought. Where had Creepy Man gone?

She turned back and, obeying the rules of all horror movies, there he was before her. She leapt back and opened her mouth to scream. He wouldn't allow it. He lifted a finger and only a choking wince escaped her. Her heart started hammering. Oh, intoxicating sound, always. “Don't move. Don't be afraid. I'll only keep you a moment.” 

Her eyes glazed and her little chain-link purse dropped to the floor. He gallantly picked it up again and handed it back. She thanked him automatically. Then she shuddered and flung it away where it landed with a bright ching-a-ling. He was surprised. Why, she had a will! A will to resist, which was always entertaining. She stared up and him and whispered, “Wait. I know you. Don't I know you?”

“No,” he whispered back. “You know of me. Perhaps you've seen me before. On television. In books. In journals. Running madly down the street.”

Her eyes widened and she stepped backwards. “You! Yes, it's you! But you fell! Last month. You were fighting that _thing_ and it knocked you off a roof. You fell and died and I was so sad.” Her eyes fluttered shut. She wrenched them open again. “I...I got your autograph when I was ten...you're...dead...oh, god, get away from me.”

“That's a no,” he said and reached for the warmth of her. Long, cold fingers slid along the softness of her skin, the pulse in her neck. “But don't be afraid,” he ordered as he smothered her frightened being with the dark hunger of his own, melding them both together until she could no more fight him than she could fight herself. Her eyes went blank with desire as they became a match for his. “It's me! You're not afraid of your hero, now, are you?” She slowly shook her head no. Her arms came up and around him and she pressed herself against the chill of his body. 

“Egon, no!” shouted a voice and the Phantom's world fell to pieces. He clamped an arm of iron around Therese and turned to face his worst nightmare.

Ray Stantz.

In full battle gear. Years of experience and better technology had lightened the load but a thrower was still a thrower and a trap was still a trap. A trap. A trap was in Ray's hand. ”No,” Egon Spengler whispered and he bared his sharp teeth. “No, not me. You will not do this to me.”

“God, he's young again,” Ray whispered to no one, and his voice was shocked and horrified. Egon could feel the despair pumping from him with every beat of his heart, his mighty heart. The man stepped forward. “Egon, let that girl go.” Ray pleaded.

“Leave me alone,” Egon commanded. “Forget this. Forget you ever saw me.” Ray paused midstep, then, almost immediately, he shook Egon's influence off and stepped forward again. 

Egon sighed as he shrank back, Therese clamped tight to his side. “Well, I had to try. And I thought you'd retired after my little accident. Let the younger, stronger, faster generation carry the torch?” A rumble of booted feet came thundering up the other end of the corridor. “Speaking of...” 

Jack and Jackie Venkman burst into view and their hip-throwers were drawn. They stopped dead together when they took in the scene. Then they slowly joined Ray. Egon pulled his human shield closer. “You will be still,” he whispered into her warm hair. “Be still.” 

“Holy shit, Uncle Egon,” Jackie said, her green eyes filling with grief and amazement. “Say it ain't so.” Jack, the quiet twin, typically said nothing but he drew in a deep, difficult breath and his grip on his thrower tightened.

“How did you find me?” Egon demanded. “How did you even know?!”

“I found you,” Ray answered. “When you hit the ground we, uh, didn't exactly sense a disturbance in the force. When Pete went, we all felt it.” Egon flinched at the sudden memory. Yes, Peter. Peter had been killed and they had all pitched in...he reluctantly glanced at Jack and Jackie again. Ray continued. “But you. It was as if you'd only left the room. We inspected your coffin.” 

“And it was empty, of course,” Egon finished, fighting back another memory of smothering earth, pounding rain, and a terrifying thirst. “Of course.” These memories, these memories, he didn't want them. He was becoming angry.

“I kept my ear to the ground and followed the signs. They led here,” Ray continued.

“Where you're feasting on the blood of beautiful maidens,” Jackie said. “Which is cool, we totally respect that.” Therese was helplessly limp but that will inside of her was keeping her awake. She was able to throw a look at Jackie that she, and Peter Venkman, had seen many, many times before. Jackie waved at her. “Hi, you're gonna be okay!”

“No, she isn't, don't be ridiculous,” Egon muttered and blasted past the twins and down the corridor, leaving Therese's shoes behind from the force of it. The last thing he heard was Jackie calling for reinforcements. Reinforcements? Who?

“Halt!” There was real command in that voice and almost a lifetime of wisely listening to it stopped Egon faster than a brick wall could. He whirled around and there was Winston Zeddemore with his daughter, Agatha, charging towards him. “Stop! Egon, stop!” 

Egon heard the despair in the man's voice. More memories he'd blocked came back to tear at him. Memories of love, and life, and brilliance. All over now. “I can't stop, Winston. You know I can't,” his deep, deadpan voice was final. Agatha burst into tears, she was as soft-hearted as Ray. Everyone teased her about it with Winston even going so far as to glare in 'suspicion' at his friend. That always got a laugh. Egon violently shook his head no. No, he didn't want to remember. 

“Egon, please.”

“No.” Egon threw himself into the nearest stairwell. Faster than thought he flew up and up the stairs, Therese over his shoulder. 

He reached the roof. He slammed the steel door behind him and twisted the handle past all turning. That should stop pursuit for, oh, about three seconds. The new throwers could do a hell of a lot more that just scorch the surface of things. And catch monsters.

Monsters. The gravel on the roof crunched under his feet as he carried his new friend over to the wall overlooking the street. The stars shone down and a sliver of moon, a Cheshire Cat's grin of a moon, cast a beautiful silver light on the world. He relished the sudden outer peace. 

Inside, visions were making him shake. The Ghosts of Rooftop Battles Past crowded in on him. It was on a rooftop where he had been attacked and drained almost to death so long ago. He shook his head. Begone foul memories. It was on a rooftop when he learned the news that he'd won the Nobel. His friends had dogpiled him in jubilation. No, begone fair memories, too. He'd forgotten everything, he'd forgotten himself. He couldn't stand this. He looked down onto the street. Blue and red lights flashed up at him. Cops? What? More reinforcements? Oh. His lips pulled back into an unfeeling grin. No, this had nothing to do with his pursuers. The rescue vehicles were surrounding a bus that was sitting diagonally across the street. Gee, some sort of accident.

He heard a strange beating noise that wasn't coming from the chest of the woman he was clutching. Wings. Powerful wings stroking through the air. A black shape crossed the moon and the shadow of a large creature swept across Egon. His unnaturally sharp eyes watched the beast as it landed on the nearby overhang of a window. It was a great, ugly woman. Egon's eyes flared red. “You?!” _That_ woman! She had made good on her promise to Peter and now it was his turn. So much for 'help' from his dear, dear friends. Not that he'd wanted help anyway, of course not. 

“I framed it,” Therese whispered. “I framed the autograph and it's on my wall, still. It says...”

As if whip-lashed Egon yanked Therese close and sank his teeth into her neck. She managed a scream, her body tense as a livewire in his arms, and then she collapsed. He swallowed again and again until there was nothing left in the world but heat and desire and sheer demonic pleasure. Her light and warmth filled Egon, made him stronger, made him faster, made him forget it all, forget everything. He wasn't going to die hungry. Or alone. Therese's hands were on the back of his head, her fingers twining in his fine hair, pressing him even closer. She cried out in astonished pleasure. The hag glowered down at them but she didn't move. Finally, Egon gasped as he pulled his head away. “Don't stop,” Therese groaned. “Take it all, I don't care.” She covered her mouth with a weak hand. “No. Oh, god.”

“I care,” Egon whispered into her ear. “But don't tell anyone.” 

Drained into the danger zone Therese began to weakly cry. He kissed her, kissed her tears. She kissed him back. How could she not, poor thing? So easy to just take what he wanted these days. And so _good._ Then there was a CLANG as the roof door was torn open. Egon could feel the vibration of heavy boots closing in. “And here they come.”

“Help. Help me,” she reached for the noise, a trickle of blood running down the length of her arm.

“Shhh. No one can help. No one. Trust me, I'm the expert.”

Lights and horrified babbling cut through the night air. Throwing Therese over his shoulder, Egon leapt and climbed up and over the inward-curving chain-link fence designed to keep jumpers from jumping. A spatter of blood from his dear girl hit the graveled surface below. He stood up, tall and still, on the very top and transferred her from his shoulder to his arms. He could drop her and go. He had dreadful wings of his own now, when he wanted them. But drop her and he'd be exposed even if he slipped into the Space Between Spaces. Who knew what preparations, what traps, they'd concocted during the day? No. There was no escape. This was the end. This was the end. “This has to end.” He turned to face his pursuers. Slowly they appeared and even more slowly they came forward. The gravel crunched under their footsteps. Someone shone a bright light on his face. 

“Blood, ohmygod, he bit her.”

“Don't blind me,” Egon warned. “One wrong step...”

“Put it down, Aggie,” someone frantically whispered and the glare was dropped. 

Into the ugly, strained silence Therese's voice was faintly heard. “I feel like I'm in a Universal horror movie,” she slurred. “Help, help, I've fainted so prettily.”

Egon laughed. “Ray loves those things. He has them memorized. Don't you, Ray?”

Ray opened and shut his mouth. Egon recognized the signs. He was stuck. The Elder Gods and demon hordes Ray could handle without blinking but a friend in a state like this? Heartbreak was pumping out of the man. He ran a helpless hand through his greying hair while he tried to jump start his brain to deal objectively with the problem. But Ray had never been one for objectivity where his heart was concerned. And when Ray went bye-bye, as Peter used to say, someone had to snap him out of it. Egon looked at Winston. No help there. Winston was studying his boots, unable even to look. The younger generation was hurting, too. Egon, their mentor, their beloved uncle, was standing over them like a Hammer Studios escapee and they didn't feel like they had the seniority to even speak, much less take a shot. Their gazes switched back and forth between the three men.

Egon sighed, deeply, breathing them in. Fine. “Would that Peter were here,” Egon mocked them all and Winston and Ray flinched, “He'd know what to do. What to say.”

“Egon, please give up,” Winston said and looked up at last. “Think of your son!” he pleaded. “What will happen to Anton? He's only two. Don't you want him to remember you?"

“He's not my son,” Egon whispered and a shot of real pain flashed in his eyes. “Not...anymore. Meaghan has Anton now. You have him. Ray has him. Ken. Leonie. Jack. Jackie...Jackie...”

“Please, please, bring that girl down and let us help you.” 

Egon shook his head slowly. Ah, they still didn't understand. Time to engage the younger generation. “See over there?” Egon glared at the window. The others looked and Egon heard them exclaim and gasp. “That's the Gwrach-y-rhibyn, class, and she's come to watch me die, die for good this time. It's an odd way to spend eternity but there are worse ways, eh?” Agatha covered the hag with her thrower while Jack pulled his on Egon. Jackie was as still as Ray and Winston and her jolly persona, another attribute she'd inherited from her father, slipped. She was in terrible pain. “It doesn't have to end this way, of course.” Egon went on while another red drop of Therese's blood hit the ground. “If _you_ give up, I'll go. And nevermore be a unconscionable blight on New York.” His eyes reddened again as his being wrapped around the golden fire that was Jackie's. _You always were my favorite,_ he thought at her. _Come along with me, Jacqueline. Give them a brief shot of your thrower, it won't hurt them. And we'll go. We'll go far, you and I._

“Oh, god, NO!” Jackie shouted and wrenched away. She turned her back on them all and shuddered. Egon was proud and he smiled an almost human smile. 

Amazingly, Jack spoke. “Okay, I know what just happened and that's it. You're not Uncle Egon,” he said and his voice was soft and steady in the night. “And I'm not going to waste any more of my time. Give up now or you're toast.” 

“Is Pluto a planet?” Even after all these years that was still quite a point of contention in the Firehouse. “No.”

“Yes!” Ray shouted in denial and tears began to pour down his face. “Oh, god, I'm so sorry, Egon.” 

“I'm sorry, too, Ray.” Egon said. “But the answer will always be no.”

Ray hit a button on his wrist PKE/Communicator. “Now, Janine.”

“Janine?!” Egon hissed. Then he was staring down at five inches of sharpened yew stake protruding from his chest, his heart's blood splattering Therese with a dark veil. He dropped her as he slowly turned. She hit the chain link and screamed as she went over the edge. Then her scream was over their heads as Jack fished her back again with one sure shot of his thrower. Today's modern throwers could, indeed, do so much more than just snag a ghost. She landed on him in a tangle of blood and limbs and they collapsed. Egon was only dimly aware of all this.

He stared at Janine Stantz as she hovered before him in the night, a crossbow in her hands and Slimer's arms clasped around her waist. How very low-tech. But brilliant in its simplicity. Typical. The moon glowed in the silver strands of her hair. Dark blood welled up into his throat to choke him and Egon put a long-fingered hand over his mouth as he coughed. But his eyes never left Janine's as his world began to darken around the corners. Of course it would be Janine. Right through the heart. Dear, DEAR, Mrs. Stantz. He could see her now as he never had before. She was ablaze with life and passion and she made the night as bright as the day he hated. He bared his red-slicked teeth. He wanted that, he wanted her... he wanted to...to...wanted to...

Egon awoke. His eyes went wide with shock as the darkness that tainted him fled and all of _himself_ poured back in one shattering wave. Clarity again, blessed, awful, clarity. His name was Egon Spengler. He'd fallen. He became like this. And now it was over. He gasped again in wonder, the clean night air filling his lungs. He was awake. He was free. Free. His hand skittered over the point of the stake. The pain of it left him. All pain left him. He was free free free and Janine had done it... Janine janine janii...he locked eyes with her again. _...thank you i knew i could depend on you i love you i should have told you you you you..._ cried from his reclaimed soul into hers and Janine screamed with grief and rage as she threw down the crossbow. It shattered on the sidewalk so many stories below. Slimer's great, yellow eyes filled with gooey tears.

One last thing. Egon twisted around to look back at the people on the roof, at the young woman bleeding in Jack's arms, at Jackie, at his dearest, oldest friends. “Please. I'm so sor...” A much more welcome darkness descended upon him and he gratefully gave in to it. 

He fell.

 

“With our deepest gratitude for all the good that you've done, with our heaviest sorrow at the loss of you, and with our greatest hope that you've found peace, we consign you, Egon, to the Four Winds. All of our love goes with you.” The young officiator (Priest? Shaman? Whatever. Call him the Rev.) gently tipped Dr. Egon Spengler's ashes over the side of Ghostbusters Central and a healthy breeze picked them up to whirl them away towards the park. In the back, on the very edge of the crowd, Therese was mildly surprised. The ashes were as fluffy as downy feathers, unlike the cremains of her late grandfather. No bits of bone to rattle inside of an urn here. It was probably intentional. Yes, they probably brought out the extra hot fire as it would be a disaster if any part of that thing had a chance to...to reconstitute itself. The Rev drew in a pained breath and she fully expected him to finish with 'God grant he lie still' but he didn't. He went on and went on. And went on some more.

"Excuse me, miss?" came a whisper from Therese's right and two-inch claws gently tapped her arm. She turned and was face to face with...he had to be a werewolf. 

Therese was beyond surprise now. "Yes?" she whispered back.

"We, uh, know everyone here," he indicated himself and his teammates, some of which were transparent. One looked like a living rock. Ah, the new Ghostbusting team made up entirely of life/human-optional members. She'd read about them in LIFE magazine. The Goop Troop was Dr. Stantz's idea and the world was kvetching but the man was standing by his people. "We know everyone but you." Wolfy smiled in what he thought was an inviting, open way. He looked like a rabid German Shepherd.

Therese's heart sank but she smiled politely. "My name is Therese Van Dorn. I'm a friend of..." she thought fast. "Jack Venkman."

"Jack Venkman?"

"Yes."

"Jack Venkman wayyyy over there?"

"I didn't say we were close," Therese muttered. Wolfman was staring at her thoughtfully, his claws twiddling. Therese was immediately angry. What was HIS name?! He was too new himself to be giving her intruder-attitude. And was now the time for this?! "You gotta problem?!" she whisper-snarled at him. 

"No! No, no, no, no," he waved his hands and sidled away. His team continued to stare. Therese moved away, too.

The Rev, hallelujah, was wrapping up. “And now a moment of silent remembrance.”

No, thank you, Therese thought as she picked at the scarf around her neck and looked out over the crowd. Fighting with werewolves now? Her body was weak and covered in bruises, she was constantly thirsty, her judgement was poor, and the industrial-strength iron pills that tall, skinny medical lady prescribed for her was making her constipated. (TMI) Therese was not well.

God, why?! Why was she here?! Why did they ask her here? Why did she agree to come, why? Because she'd felt him die, as they had. Because she had to put that thing...that man to rest. Because her heroes were crying. She adjusted the scarf around her neck for the eight thousandth time and looked through the small crowd at Ray and Janine Stantz. They mirrored each other, their heads down in sorrow. Next to them were Winston and June Zeddemore. They all looked exhausted. Dr. Stantz wiped his eyes again. “Please, don't,” Therese whispered. The AMAZING LUIZ, star of the Ghostbuster movie franchise, was crying, too, and that was even more wrong. Comedians shouldn't cry. 

Therese grieved for him and for the Zeddemores and the Stantzs and the Spenglers and the Venkmans, all the great names, the Great Ones. They'd saved her. They'd all been so kind to her. She hurt for them all. How stupid of her to believe that all these people did was vacuum up pesky spooks and wave to the crowds. Never a thought for the toll it might take on them. She grieved for herself, for the happy little woman she used to be. She felt like Eliza Doolittle, horizons horribly expanded and unable to go back to what she was. Unwilling to advance to...what? What the hell could she advance to? 

The moment of silence ended and there was a soft murmur of voices as people began to drift down, some of them literally, to the cavernous garage to drink to Egon's memory. Which was a little obscene given the circumstances but it was tradition. Therese effaced herself and watched them all go through the rooftop door. All the Ghostbusters, all these heroes who had saved the world a dozen times, mourning Egon Spengler. Egon Spengler who had...Therese's hand went to her throat. Egon Spengler had signed an autograph for her when she was ten years old and he'd been so nice. 

_The girl ran her quarry down outside of the Met. He loved opera. Well, she wouldn't hold that against him. She opened with, “I'm going to be a Ghostbuster, too, someday!” Dr. Spengler stopped and looked down at Therese from his great height (wow, he was even taller in person) and shoved his glasses up his nose to see her better. He didn't smirk and tut tut over her the way her parents did. He was taking her seriously! Her heart soared._

_“You seem sincere. Are you?” he asked._

_“Indubibabedly! I'm going to do it.”_

_He smiled then, the corners of his mouth going up in that cool Sherlock Holmes way he had. “Good. Please join us,” he said. “We need all the drive and intelligence we can get.” She thrust forward her program. “No, thank you, I have mine,” he said._

_“Oh, see, I want you to sign this one. Please?”_

_“Ah, I do see. Certainly.” He took the program and inspected it as if he'd never seen one before. Therese dug through her bag (her parents now knew better than to drag her to the opera without a book and other quiet pastimes) and found a pen. Her favorite pen, full of purple ink that glittered._

_“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said and handed it over._

_He took it and wrote 'Egon Spengler PHD BS EG GH EA D., etc.' on it. "There, I've signed it. Now what?"_

_"You give it back."_

_"Ah." He held it out and she took it but he kept hold. "You do promise you're going to be a Ghostbuster?"_

_"I promise!"_

_He smiled again and let go._

 

And then her parents descended and hauled her away, clucking like chickens over her intrusion. Goodbye, pen. And it had been years before she realized he'd been teasing her about the program. 'Round about the same time she finally noticed his silly credentials. 

The tears came rushing then and Therese went to find a quiet corner as she grieved for him, too. He hadn't asked for this either. That poor man. That poor, good, funny, brilliant man. Poor her. Poor world. It wasn't fair. 

The roof emptied and Therese wept there, the wind cooling her face, until she was through. The inner strength that had kept her talking, struggling, and even joking during the worst hour of her life buoyed her through. But what the hell was she going to do? Just what the hell was she going to do now after all this? 

Be a Ghostbuster, of course, like you promised. 

That answer arrived out of left field in her mind. Therese wiped her face with her scarf. Be a Ghostbuster. Yeah, right. 

Why not?

Why not indeed? What the hell else was she going to do? But it was a child's dream. A child's promise. 

You've seen the reality. And faced it better than most. With a little experience, with a little training...

“Who am I talking to, please? Therese whispered.

Yourself. Trust me. 

And Therese realized that was true. But, good god. A warm hand fell on her shoulder. She shrieked and whirled around, pawing at the air.

“Sorry!” a young man yelped, backing up in self defense. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, it's just me. Sorry.”

“Jack!” Therese struggled for air and Jack Venkman patted her shoulders with both hands until she calmed again. She was grateful he didn't move in to coil around her in a Let Me Comfort You With My Manly Body sort of way. Not after what she'd been through. But that was Jack for you. He didn't talk much but he understood.

Alert the media, he spoke first. “I'm leaving for London tonight. We're going international and I'm developing a new English team.”

“You've got your job cut out. Queen Anne with her head under her arm will be the least of your problems.”

“Yeah, the ley lines are acting up. Um.” He glanced at her quickly and his eyes were red and weary but still sharp. “I want you to call me. Often. I'm not qualified for patients yet but we need to keep in touch.”

Therese frowned. She didn't want to be a patient. She wanted to...she wanted to...to stop feeling terrible. She wanted to take action! She wanted to... She made her decision. It felt right. Right as anything had ever felt in her life, even moreso than her decision to teach. After all, she'd _settled_ for teaching. “No,” Therese shook her head with finality and smiled up at him. “I'm going with you. Or I'll finish basic training or whatever here and join you later. Either way, I'm leaving New York.”

“Er?”

“I have family and friends in London and they've been after me for years to make the jump across the pond. So I will. I need a change and I love the place. I love English history, Doctor Who, hot tea, all of it. I'm an Anglophile,” she said. 

“I don't judge,” he said. “But...”

“I made a promise years ago and I'm going to keep it.” Saying it out loud was a relief. And it felt right. And that was, finally, an emotion she could easily bear. “Say hello to your newest Ghostbuster.”


	4. Billions and Billions

.

***** “Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.” *****

“Captain, there is an incoming message from First World. Marked 'Imperative.'”

“I care not,” Captain Uptarisss hissed through her sharp teeth and her neck-frill rippled with indignation. Messenger Ss'kss stared at her. Her own frill stiffened. Then she deliberately opened the communication herself, her movements broad and exaggerated so the entire bridge crew could see what she was doing. It was the Captain's turn to be astounded. Ss'kss's fellow messenger, Mirda, knotted his tentacles together in anxiety as the Captain turned her yellow eyes on him.“Take over for her. You are through here, Messenger Ss'kss!” 

Mirda didn't move. Ss'kss began to speak, “First World is condemning you for this unprovoked attack during a diplomatic mission to a new world.”

“Unprovoked? Look at them! See what they are!”

Ss'kss went on. “First World is ordering you to cease hostilities. First World is ordering you out of orbit and away from this planet. First World is...”

“QUIET!” Uptarisss erupted and her frill expanded to its full width in sheer fury. “They are fools!”

“They are ordering us to retreat!” 

“We can't retreat! We're crippled.”

Ss'kss looked over at the green slime still dripping from the navigation banks. “Then we stand down. These mammals have been honorable so far. Unlike...”

“Mammals?!” Uptarisss quickly interrupted. “Mammals aren't people! Much less honorable. We _eat_ mammals!” Uptarisss clenched her claws together in xenophobic horror. Then she forced them apart and prayed for calm. She was a good captain, her people were listening, but they were badly afraid. Her voice became smooth and reasonable. “Do you not have eyes to see?” She turned, pinning each of her people where they sat. “Out of all the defenders there,” she indicated the large viewscreen which showed the docks, “There is only _one_ life-sign.” Her frill drooped in horror. Her pose was unconsciously imitated by several of the bridge crew. “And it's a talking mammal! This Rift-ridden, fur-infested world is an abomination!” 

One of the security guards left his post by the door, a protocol breach that brought him to everyone's immediate attention. His rapier claws tapped on the deck and the lights gleamed in his bright orange and yellow feathers. His beak opened and his neck pulsed as he softly spoke. “That we have found a world of intelligent mammals is a wonder and a tribute to the Goddess of Creation,” he said. “Such things have only been possible in fanciful stories for as long as all of our worlds have existed. It is no crime to be a mammal.” 

“It is a crime to allow unchecked dimensional rips to endanger surrounding inhabited systems.”

“How will that happen if there are no inhabited systems here but this one!” Mirda wailed, his tentacles flailing. “How very, very long it took us to arrive here! How isolated it is!”

“How dare you question the captain?! How insubordinate!” another of Mirda's people sitting at the weapons panel howled back.

“Shut up, Squidward, this is Earth calling.” Shocked silence hit the bridge. Captain Uptarisss slowly turned to stare at the Navigation systems where the voice was emanating. She studied the green, oozing slime that choked it. Then she saw, high up, and so innocently unobtrusive, a tiny globe of glass, no larger than a child's claw, with metal (?) widgets inside stuck to a panel. It was encircled with runes. Uptarisss reached for it but felt only the bulkhead on the other side. It was as if it weren't there at all. She hissed wordlessly and her tail stiffened. That was impossible. This planet's technology wasn't that advanced, no one's was. The voice continued. “Since you refuse to speak to us anymore through regular channels we've decided on this one. We're not a member of your Federation, or whatever, so your laws don't apply to us. If we're not being hurt by our dimensional rips they certainly wouldn't affect anyone _out there._ Those that did cause a problem we just closed 'em. But anyway, Uptarisss?” Her name! Her muscles jerked as if she'd been stung. “I'm sorry if I mispronounced that, by the way, but, ah, you really, really need to listen to your people. And follow orders.”

“Who are you?!” she demanded.

“He said his name was Earth.”

“No, sorry, that's the name of our planet. The Earth! Heh, we're not an overly-complicated people.”

“But your planet is 75% water.” 

“We're not a logical people either.”

“I order you all to stop talking to it! Who are you, mammal?!”

“I'm Doctor Raymond Stantz. I'm the life sign you're seeing on the beach.”

“Visuals. Visuals, now!”

“Please call me Ray, though.” 

“This is fascinating,” the security guard chirped. “I greet you, Ray.”

“Hi, I greet you, too!” 

“Silence, Versh! Back to your post.” Uptarisss ordered. He reluctantly went. 

“Visual ready,” an alligator-ish being growled. “Focusing. There it is.” The viewscreen showed a small stretch of New York's docks and there, studying a device in its paw, an old, upright creature with a thatch of extremely fine, white fur on top of its head. 

“And there you are,” it said. Eyes of amber looked directly out at them from the screen. They were the forward-facing eyes of a predator. Uptarisss trembled, then forced herself to stop. A predatory mammal? Great Egg protect us. And it was surrounded by unnatural creatures. Floating blobs of color with teeth. Other mammals like itself but transparent. Monsters made of rock. Of air. Of disgusting slime. And that one living creature standing calmly among them all as if such nightmares were normal. Uptarisss glared at the orb that she couldn't touch. The creature spoke again.“We're in a good position right now. No one has been killed or seriously hurt on either side. So we all need to calm down and start over.” Uptarisss clenched her claws together again. Versh stepped out of place once more. He was followed by his partner this time, another of his species but with muted brown and pale-yellow feathers, a female. They looked at each other in wonder and then they stared at the screen. Everyone gaped up, intent and amazed. 'Ray' cleared its throat, such a normal sound from such a bizarre thing, and then it said, “On behalf of all the countries of the Earth, and especially on behalf of the fine citizens of the city of New York, we welcome you.” Ss'kss whistled in amazement. “We will not harm you or allow you to be harmed and we are in hopes that you won't harm us. Anymore.” It looked over its shoulder at a tall building that had a smoking hole in it. Mirda twiddled his tentacles self-consciously. “All we want is peace and friendship.” 'Ray' exposed it's teeth in a pleasant way. “I mean it's lonely way out here on the edge of the galaxy.” 

 

On the beach Ray eagerly looked down at the viewer in his hand. Another intensely hissed debate was warming up over there. But things looked positive. Mostly. Sort of. He took his thumb off the communicator button and turned to the banshee wearing a green jumpsuit floating next to him. “Oh, wow, this is amazing. This is First Contact!” She nodded and smiled, more pleased for him than for this historic moment. She took a comb out of her belt and began to run it through her long, red hair. Ray's hips were aching for a comfy place to sit down but he wasn't about to move. There was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be. He'd promised to retreat to an evac center after he'd finished the communication orb, promised to leave this confrontation in the hands/paws/appendages of the people that couldn't be killed, but some promises, well, you know. 

First Contact! First Contact! He was in on Earth's first First Contact. He sighed with happiness as every last alien of every single sci-fi adventure he'd ever loved did a victory dance in his head. Spock was tapping and twirling a cane, the cast of Star Wars was doing the Hustle, and a chorus line of ETs were kicking up their stubby heels in jubilation. It was Ray's dream come true. “Isn't it great how they're all reptiles or amphibians or cephalopods?" he said. "Makes sense. If it weren't for that meteor millions of years ago Earth's dominant species wouldn't be us apes, that's for sure.” Ray looked at the viewer again and a frown marred his enthusiasm. “Uptarissss-ss-ss isn't liking this at all, though.”

The banshee, Fionne, paused her endless combing. “Aye, the birdies and some of the others are all for us but the captain is afraid.”

“And not very bright,” said a nearby rock troll with a No Ghosts insignia carved into his chest. “She's insulted that we beat her to a standstill. Beat her before she even had a chance to get started. She might try to reclaim her honor or something.” He looked fondly at the old man shifting his weight back and forth. “And sit down before your hips need replacing again.” He snapped his fingers with a sound like a piece of dynamite going off and a nearby concrete weight scraped across the dock to plant itself next to Ray. 

He slowly sat himself down with a smile. “Whew, thanks, Fred. Those fifty pound packs took it out of me. And you never know about Uptarisss, really,” Ray said, getting back to the subject. “She just might listen. To her people if not us.” He heard a sigh nearby and glanced over. The Gwrach-y-rhibyn looked back at him. She raised an eyebrow. “Aw, shit,” Ray said. “Then again she just might not.” 

“Who's that, then?” Fionne asked, sliding her comb into her belt. “I thought I knew everyone.”

“Uhhhh, hide,” Ray whispered at the newcomer. “Please?” She shrugged and complied, drawing a flap of wing over her wild hair and hunkering down on the beach. Good enough. “Hey, Slimer!” Ray called then. A blob of green with arms, eyes, and a huge mouth flew proudly in front of Ray and saluted. Ray loved him, he'd been the one that started it all. He'd done well with the navigation systems but he was also prone to panic and crying jags, especially where his dearest friends were concerned. Now was not a good time for Slimer to be around. Ray thought fast. “Buddy, go to the Central Park Zoo and get some empty habitats ready for our friends over there. We might need them.”

“Uh huh! Uh huh!” Slimer agreed and took off, a streak of green against the sky, and then he was gone. The hag unwrapped herself and stood.

Ray breathed in and collected himself. He turned to Fionne and answered her question. “This is my very own Gwrach-y-rhibyn. From Wales!” 

“Oooooh, we are posh! Time to go, then?”

“'Fraid so.”

“Ta!”

“Ta, Fionne.” Ray rocked himself upright again. “Fred, help me stand on this thing.” He was helped up by the suddenly dour troll. Ray quickly glanced at his viewer again. Uptarisss was ordering security to the bridge, damn her. Why was there always an Uptarisss?! Fearful, insecure assholes getting in the way of everything. No change! Ugg no like change! Ugg no want anyone not exactly like Ugg! “Lord Stewart, could you screw up their visuals for a moment?” A semi-transparent man in a WWI British officer's uniform saluted Ray with his swagger stick and disappeared. Ray followed progress on his viewer. Oh, how cute. Uptarisss had tried to block the orb with a piece of cloth. Sorry, didn't work. Ray could still see everyone on the bridge, right down to their last scale and feather. His hips were gone but his brain was sharp as ever. He allowed himself to feel a little smug. Suddenly, there was a flash of sparks on the bridge and Uptarisss nearly lost all control as her viewscreen went dead. She shrieked for the back-ups. Lord Stewart reappeared on the dock and received thanks with aplomb. Wow, what style. Fionne began to comb her hair again, slowly, luxuriously, the silken red strands flowing in the breeze. Lord Stewart noticed. He gave his exact mustache a quick smooth with his finger.

Ray and Fred exchanged a Look but then it was back to business. Ray didn't know how long Uptarisss's back-ups would take so he quickly hit the noisemaker on his viewer and waved it through the air. The sound of the old-fashioned blatt of Ecto 1's siren, the only thing left of her after the incident at the Guggenheim (and let's not even talk about the Guggenheim itself. God, some people hold a grudge) was heard over the docks and the crowd went silent. “Good news and bad news!” he shouted. “Good news is the majority of the crew is on our side. They want peace. Or, at least, they want to get out of this crazy place.” There was a ripple of amusement from everyone. “Bad news is, I'm guessing El Capitan is going to kill me in an 'Up yours, mammal,' sort of way.” A nearby harpy screeched in indignation and the murmur of the crowd became angry. Tails thrashed and fangs were bared. There were no great outpourings of grief, though, and Ray didn't expect any. Not from this bunch which viewed death as an irritant or simply inapplicable. 

Lord Stewart's nostrils flared in an aristocratic way. “What bloody cheek! After we so kindly didn't destroy them.” 

“We won't make that mistake again,” Fred promised, grinding his stony knuckles into his fist. Small boulders and stones popped out of the ground and the water to slide across the dock and pile onto his body. Suddenly a regular rock troll became a HUGE-ASS ROCK TROLL and the effect was frightening.

Ray hit the siren again until he had their attention once more. “We don't know for sure! I might just fall off this rock or something. But it doesn't matter what happens to me!” There were cries of denial. Ray glanced at the viewer. Versh, Ss'kss, the unnamed female 'birdie' and Mirda were being arrested and led away at weapon point. Ss'kss was shouting about defying orders being a criminal act. She was shoved out the door. “The captain's an idiot. She's ignoring orders to retreat. She had no orders to attack in the first place. Their's was a diplomatic mission and it's going to stay a diplomatic mission. If she does attack me then, please, don't retaliate!”

“If they're going to attack we will defend ourselves,” Lord Stewart pronounced.

“And how are they going to hurt _you?”_ Ray shot back. 

“We can't let aggression slide,” Fred said and there was more affirmative noise. “You might not come back.”

Ray shook his head. “I'm sorry I'm breakable. But I knew I could get killed before I ever showed up here. I don't care! I had to be here! They've lost already, don't drag this thing out. Guys!” The muttering died down again. “As soon as I'm blasted, if I'm blasted, storm that ship and take the entire crew prisoner. But don't hurt anyone! Take them to the Central Park Zoo, where I sent Slimer, and make them comfortable until First World comes. We'll hand 'em over with kind smiles because we're big that way. We're going to have peace. We're going to step onto the BIG stage. We are going to go boldly where no one has ever gone before! And it'll be great!” There was still stubborn glowering, especially from Fred and other old soldiers, the different Goop Troopers who'd been with Ray from the beginning. Outer Space aliens didn't matter much to those who hailed from the deepest depths of Inner Space. 

But for a human and a human dreamer at that, god, what an amazing, fun opportunity peace would bring. Which he wouldn't partake in. Being tits up. And all. He had a bad moment of doubt. Did he screw up a chance at peace by giving Uptarisss a target? Or was he ensuring peace by insisting on no combat? One way or another, the results would be no concern of his. Bang on cue a young ghoul, looking for all the world like a beautiful Japanese girl, suddenly burst into tears. 

“Don't, Sen, don't. I'll be okay,” Ray softly reassured her and another lovely ghoul, who called herself Biscuit, rushed to comfort her. Ray had something new to consider. Will he be okay? The vast majority of people who died didn't return. Damn. He wanted to see this future! He wanted to explore! To seek out new life and new civilizations! His hips, and his stupid, fused back, too, the traitor, gave him a vicious twinge then and he sighed. He could barely stand much less go tearing across the stars. He looked at the Gwrach-y-rhibyn and she actually smiled at him in a sympathetic way. Ray smiled back but he couldn't suppress his disappointment. And then he decided what the hell. "I'll be back, I promise. If anyone can do it, I can. Don't cry." Sen sniffled and pulled herself together. Ray double checked his viewer to make sure the viewscreens were still down. He didn't want anyone on the ship to hear this next bit. “By the way, everybody!" They were listening. "I hate to point out the obvious but their First World blasting Earth into dust at a distance would irrevocably destroy every creature attached to it. Those of you from other dimensions, all the portals would implode and probably suck you back to where you came from.”

A young man with bat wings looked up in horror. “No!”

“Yes, I'm sorry. Also, for those of you that started out as human, the mystic energies that keep you animate, and gives you power, would go poof. You'll die again and this time you'll stay dead.” Fionne and Lord Stewart looked at each other in alarm. Silence descended on everyone as they all digested this new element (and felt stupid for not thinking of it before. Well, when you defeat death it's easy to get lulled into a false sense of invincibility. A fault the Ghostbusting teams continued to exploit with great success.) Ray went on, “We need peace. We need to get to know each other. They need to know we won't unleash inter-dimensional hell on them and we need to make sure they won't Death Star us. Right?” Fred dropped his rocky head in despair. “C'mon, Fred. Right?”

“Right,” the troll reluctantly admitted. “For now! They better not try anything later.”

“For now is good. Now is all we've got anyway. Get ready to go in and grab 'em. Grab 'em and secure the ship.” The crowd broke attention, reluctantly, and surrounded the three leaders of their Goop Troop teams. Ray watched as Fred, Fionne, and Lord Stewart began to confer and give orders. Ray wanted to get down from his block again but Fred was a little busy. The short hop was beyond Ray, and had been since long before his hip operations, so he just looked down at the ground longingly. Luckily Sen and Biscuit approached and helped him. “Thank you, girls.” He sat down with many a creak and pop. “Oog, that's embarrassing.” 

“At least you're not farting,” Biscuit said and all three had a laugh, even Sen who could be the stereotypical bashful maiden. Ray enjoyed it. And, yeah, thank goodness for small favors. Then the women looked at each other and seemed to reach a silent agreement. “Ray, you're certain about dying?”

“Mmhmm.” He looked around for the Grakky Ribbon and saw her speaking to Fionne. What? Trading tips? Who knew? And there was another regret that went flying across his horizon. He'd never had a chance to really sit down and talk to her. He lifted his chin in her direction. “She was there for Pete and Egon. And now me. Oh, well.” He smiled up at the girls. 

Sen put a hand on his shoulder. “We would not have your body contaminated with rot or mummified with poisonous chemicals.”

“Or thrown into a furnace to burn like garbage,” Biscuit said, her pretty nose wrinkling.

“Or left lying around for your enemies to mutilate.”

“Or laid out on a slab for medical students to paw over.”

“We would like to eat it.”

Ray was a little surprised. “Eat it?” Eat this gristly, old thing?

“All the goodness and bravery and intelligence that's built into your muscles and bones would give us immeasurable strength. You would become part of us. And we would pass that down to our children to enrich our families and our entire people eventually.”

“Now that's immortality!” Biscuit proclaimed. “Please let us do this, Ray, your body is very important even if you're not using it anymore.”

Ray was touched. Of course, he, personally, saw nothing wrong with being buried in a lovely green plot to be reabsorbed by the Earth, aka food for worms but...but THIS was even better! Eaten by gorgeous ghouls, how cool is that?! And they had a point about his enemies. He hated to think of some jackass sorcerer using his bones to make charms. He beamed. “I dunno how much of me is going to be left after Uptarisss hits me with a photon torpedo, or whatever, but if there's anything at all you're both welcome to it.”

The girls gave a cheer and hugged him and Ray laughed as he hugged them back. What a life. What a fantastic, amazing, wonderful life. He heard a gagging sound from his viewer and looked down to see Uptarisss staring at him in reptilian horror. “Hey, the viewscreen is back up,” Ray praised her. “That was quick.”

“Cannibals!” the captain hissed. “Cannibals and mammals and monsters! How dare you? How dare you even exist?!” She whirled away and ran her claws down controls that had punched a hole in a skyscraper. Suddenly a birdie jumped her and the fight was on. Uptarisss's green, gleaming hide rolling over and over with a clawing whirlwind of feathers. The entire crew hissed or squawked or flailed and chaos reigned. Poor things.

“Here it comes. Spread out everyone.” Sen and Biscuit kissed him and fled to join Fred. Fred took one last, long look at his old friend. Ray waved. The troll waved back. Then the ground opened up and sucked him and his team under with a rumbling vibration that Ray could feel all through his aching bones. Fionne and Lord Stewart also looked back, then turned to move their people away to take up their positions. They all faded away into invisibility. “Thanks, guys,” Ray whispered. “Thank you for everything.” The three Goop Troops had repaid Ray's faith in them over and over and over...his eyes were filling up. But now was not the time. 

Ray was left alone with the swooping seagulls and he was glad. He loved gulls. He loved the sound they made. It was the most beautiful racket he'd heard in New York after making his escape from the landlocked shithole that was his boyhood home town. So many, many years ago. Still he felt a little lonesome and was surprised and pleased to see one last, and very strange, 'ghost' walking towards him, the wind blowing her wild hair every which way. The old hag stopped by his side and Ray smiled at her. Odd. Well, she was probably determined to see her task through to the bitter end. Rimshot. She cocked her head at him curiously. “Will ye actually try to come back?” she asked.

“Yes, I'll try. I don't want to miss the future.”

“Where you're goin', boy, you won't miss a thing.” 

“Aw, thanks.” Ray said, then he became businesslike. “'Scuse me, please, I have to send a message.” She nodded. Ray gingerly stood up again, and hit several buttons on his viewer. He noted in passing that Uptarisss had won and her opponent was being shoved off the bridge, still fighting and clawing. Uptarisss was screeching as she abandoned all protocol and began to simply lose her mind to panic. Brought on by the fight or the abrupt disappearance of her enemies? Hmmm. The others were terrified, too. Craning their sinuous necks or whipping their eyes around in all directions like chameleons, a sight which almost made Ray collapse with laughter. But he had one last important thing to do. He tapped on the touchpad of his viewer. “Record. Record. RECORD, damn it! There we go...hello, family, and all my friends. Uh. As you can see I'm not at the evac center and I'm sorry. I just couldn't pass up a spaceship and you know it. So you'll understand about that. But, um, look, here's the Gwrach-y-rhibyn,” the hag waved at the device Ray turned towards her. “So it looks like I'm about to have an Awfully Big Adventure. Sorry about that. Still, I'm going to give the captain over there another chance to change her mind and take peace. You never know! You always have to keep trying.”

A gull wheeled by, crying of the sea. Ray watched it, white against the blue sky. 

“But if she doesn't go for it then that's fine, too. I hate to leave so, Janine? If you're asleep in bed and a cold, cold man crawls in next to you, it's just me. Or Count Carl again although he did promise me he'd leave you alone. Anyway, I love you all. Oh, and I gave Sen and Biscuit my body so don't be shocked about that. I think it's great. And a savings. And I'm so glad it's me going this time. I was having nightmares about being the last. I love you again.” He raised a fist into the air. “I REGRET NOOOOOTHING!” 

Ray sent his message and turned his attention back to the bridge. The switch wasn't as easy as that. He really did regret nothing but, oh, leaving all this behind?

He saw that Uptarisss was bleeding over her left eye and she was gasping. Feathers were still floating through the air. Ray had never seen anything more pitiable. “Captain, I promise you, none of your people will be harmed if you back away from the course you're about to take.”

“My people?” she hissed. “Touch not...what course?”

“You're about to kill me. Go right ahead, it changes nothing. The planet Earth and all of its peoples, and I mean ALL of its peoples, are determined to have peace and the actions of one panicked lizard won't be held against your crew or even you. Please surrender.”

“And then?”

“Then what? Nothing. Sit there and lay eggs for all I care. Wait and let your bosses come and get you. Talk to your people. Fix the damage to your ship. Get something to eat. Read a nice book. Anything. But stop this.”

She tapped a sensor with her claw. A tight beam of light shot from the ship and passed through Ray. It left a perfectly cauterized two-inch round hole in his chest. He looked down at it curiously and was even able to poke his finger inside. Ew. Dry. And smelled like burnt steak. Still, he was glad that Sen and Biscuit would have something left to chew on. His legs gave and the hag caught him before he hit the ground. He was able to smile at her and she sadly smiled back. _Ta,_ he mouthed. Then...

...he flew.

 

 

Director Bunter flicked off the large screen and turned to look at the class visiting from Earth. Their field trip had taken a somber turn and they were upset to say the least. The Bworis had all turned a quivering yellow, the Visarsh looked like they were about to molt, the Ss'kari's frills were drooping and some of the Humans were crying. Poor things, the data from the ship and Ray's viewer combined to make devastating watching. Well, the Lunar Smithsonian didn't sugarcoat vital history and these were teens or whatever the equivalent was on their homeworlds. They were old enough to face some unsettling truths. He reached into his pocket. “Here are some tissues,” he prompted. A Bwori girl reached out with a tentacle and took them. She kindly passed them around to the humans. Messy way to show distress but that's the way they were built, bless them. Some of the more callous students mocked the others. Much of that was bravado in the face of their own discomfort but a very few were motivated by cold-hearted malice. Director Bunter made a short list of those students in his mind. You never know when keeping track might prove useful. He was nothing if not a meticulously organized man. 

That was the way _he_ was built.

“Everyone ready?” he gently prompted, nudging them all back into the here and now. The kids pulled themselves together and he continued with his lecture. “The upshot of events, of course, is that peace did indeed result from Ray Stantz's sacrifice. It was a peace based on mutual respect, a need for resources, and fear. Respect: First World respected the human's highly-civilized self control in the face of unprovoked attack. Earth was delighted to find it wasn't alone in the Universe and respected First World's condemnation of Captain Uptarisss's actions. Resources: Earth needed technology to bring them forward into the greater interstellar community and to help reverse the damage their industrial activities had done to their planet. The various non-mammalian civilizations needed a reliable and quickly replenishing supply of live food. Rats, mice, and rabbits in particular secured Earth's position as the 'Breadbasket of the Galaxy.'”

“We don't eat bread.”

“Figure of speech,” Bunter waved that away. “Fear: Not so vital in these sedate times but, like Ray Stantz said, 'They need to know we won't unleash inter-dimensional hell on them and we need to make sure they won't Death Star us.'” Someone raised a clawed hand. “Yes?”

“But back then First World could destroy Earth but Earth couldn't touch them. First World had nothing to be afraid of.”

“They did when Fionne the Banshee figured out a way to send herself along a line of communication to its origin. Turns out any planet's natural energies can support her. And others. So there she was, a creature no weapon could touch, offering peace and friendship while simultaneously demonstrating her _remarkable_ ability to destroy everything in her path with a single shriek. Then Lord Stewart joined her. Earth's goodwill ambassadors. Who wouldn't leave.” Bunter cracked his knuckles in an ominous sort of way but then he smiled. “In fact, legend has it that they never did leave.” He dropped his voice dramatically. “They're still out there somewhere, together. Too wily to be trapped. Or even located. And always watching.” Far from being afraid the students were impressed and they buzzed with chills and excitement. Bunter smiled. Kids. Irrepressible kids, they were amazing. A hand went up. “Yes?”

“Did Dr. Stantz come back?”

“Sadly, no.” There was a murmur of disappointment. “And before anyone asks, yes, I'm sure. None of the original Ghostbusters ever reappeared to anyone living.”

Then a tentacle wriggled forth. “How very unprofessional of Captain Uptarisss! How badly was she punished?”

“The penalty for that level of treason and aggression at the time was death but her defense argued temporary insanity brought on by xenophobic panic. She was stripped of rank and banished from her home planet. None of the other civilized worlds would take her and she was on the verge of suicide when she was offered asylum on Earth by the Stantz family. It was what Ray would have wanted. She took it and spent the rest of her life studying the flora and fauna of the Okeefenokee Swamp and avoiding everyone.”

“The family should have hunted her down,” someone rebelliously muttered. “Murderer.”

A name popped out of Bunter's overflowing mental file and he smiled again. “I understand your dissatisfaction, Miranda Stantz,” he said and a buzz went round the viewing area. Miranda was surprised and pleased. Her chin went up. The Director, however, became serious and went on, “But every sentient being on every civilized world appreciated then, and appreciates now, the Stantz family's capacity for mercy.” Abashed, Miranda looked down at her hands. “Certainly I do,” Bunter thoughtfully went on.

Then he clapped his hands together once. “Now who wants to go to the Greenroom and see the holo-Ghostbusters in action?” The kids cheered up immediately. “This way,” the director led them. “It's an impressive and extremely realistic display.”


	5. Not the Legacy He Wanted

*****“I hate writing but I love having written.” *****

The freshly painted grandstand was draped with red, white and blue bunting and it was up to its Victorian neck with tubs of red, white and blue flowers. The crape myrtles were in full bloom and the Spanish moss fluttered from the branches of the oak trees. Every shop front facing the town square park was clean and decorated. Even the streets sparkled. Fresh American flags were snapping in the breeze. Family upon family and even throngs of students from the nearest university were out and having a good time. An excellent jazz band played hot pre-WWII numbers and people in period costume were dancing, dancing, dancing, hallelujah it wasn't too hot to dance this year. The scent of barbeque and fresh popcorn and hot apple pie swaggered through the air. Despite himself, Winston Zeddemore liked it. Bon Vivant, Louisiana was a nice little backwater of a one-horse flyspeck.

He turned to Mayor Dorothy Spengler, his youngest daughter. “How much did all this cost?” he asked, interrupting her chit-chat with small-town bigwigs. Her husband, Anton Spengler, and her unofficial mother-in-law, Meaghan Carter, shot Winston twin warning looks but he ignored them. 

“A lot,” the mayor answered, ignoring Winston in her turn. He felt the old, familiar anger well up. There was one in every family. And Dorothy was 'the one' in his, despite all his Herculean efforts. Twenty-seven years old and she was still...

_For the life of him, Winston couldn't adjust his desk chair to be comfortable. He pulled that lever and pushed this one and each adjustment was a disaster on his spine. But he had to write his Big Idea down and fast. His previous small efforts had been welcomed and enjoyed by many magazines but this ingenious plot was the One._

_“Daddy, watch this part!” Dorothy began to sing, “ Let it go! Let it goooo! The cold never bothered me anyway, boop boop honk!”_

_“Yeah, nice.” Winston ignored the discomfort of his bones (god, he retired from Ghostbusting just in time) and started to type frantically._

_“Daddy! Sing with me.”_

_“Not now, Dorothy.”_

_“Pleeeease?”_

_He stood up, exasperated. “JUNE! I need to get out of here so I can work on this. I'll be back in a couple of hours.” Dorothy began to cry. Winston sighed as he gathered his things. He was too old for the girl's nonsense._

...a damn brat! “The money could've been better used,” he groused. “Half these flowers aren't necessary.” Not as necessary as, say, writing down a few hundred words of what was eventually revealed to be pure tripe. Priorities, priorities, Dorothy never asked him to watch a movie with her again. More time to write. Of course.

“Dr. Zeddemore!” boomed a huge bear of a man in a Zoot Suit as loud as he was. He'd been introduced as Raj Bazzazz, owner of the Turkish Delight bookstore (Hah! Books will never die.) and a popular presence on the town council. His red, white and blue turban was so bright it hurt Winston's eyes. “Doctor, we don't get many authors around here. You must talk books with me.” 

“Gladly,” Winston agreed, relieved. Anton was still giving him the hairy eyeball. Winston didn't care how Anton felt. He was an idiot like Dorothy was an idiot. Leaving New York for this...

_”What do you mean you're not going?! It's Harvard Med School and you're going!”_

_“I only applied because you made me. I never thought I'd be accepted!”_

_“Well, you have. And you should thank me.”_

_“What? Why? What did you do?”_

_“Dottie doesn't have any interest in medicine,” Anton butted in. “She never has.”_

_“Kid, you stay out of this.”_

_“Dad! You know he's right. I've been accepted to Berkeley, Political Science, and that's where I'm going.”_

_“My daughter is not going to some hippie California clown college!”_

_“I'm eighteen. I've got a scholarship. Goodbye.”_

Winston desperately dove into shop-talk with Baz. Publication, editors, popular demand vs. artistic integrity, etc...etc...the year of silence that followed that angry scene was her own fault for giving Harvard, _Harvard,_ a pass. How dare she give that up? And have the further bad taste to succeed and be happy doing whatever she damn well pleased? Some people's children. He glared at her. The mayor didn't notice.

Dorothy checked her watch and moved to the front of the grandstand. “Oh, here we go!” Baz said and bowed gracefully out of the conversation. The Charleston was booming out over the crowd and Dorothy decided to try it. The town's Sheriff, very pregnant, laughed and left the prizes she was indifferently guarding to give it her best shot, too. They were terrible and everyone on the stand was laughing. Anton raced around to the front, raised his hand and took several pictures with his silver wristlet, an heirloom from his adoptive father. Anton had updated it. Other lights flashed and the dancers mugged for the cameras while the crowd clapped in time and whistled. Winston was unimpressed. Town leaders should have more decorum. 

The leader of the band wrapped up the Charleston with a flourish and the women took a bow. The crowd cheered. The sheriff puffed for breath and held onto her belly as Dorothy tapped her chest mike, disguised as a rosebud pin, into life. “Not here, Paula, please. We just painted this thing,” rang out across the park to laughter from all quarters again.

Paula gave her belly a couple of thoughtful pats before flashing everyone a brilliant smile and a thumbs up. It wasn't gonna happen today! Anton rushed a chair forward for her, she sat, and he dragged her and it back to the prizes. Then Dorothy turned to the crowd as she was again flanked by her husband and the council. “Hello, hello, hello!” she waved both her arms and beamed out at the crowd. They hallooooooed back. “Happy Fourth of July!” Cheering. “Happy Jazz Fest, too, I love this era!” More cheering. “I think from now on we'll separate the two? Have Jazz Fest in the spring or fall?” Hmmm, the crowd paused while the council looked surprised and then thoughtful. 

“That'd be great for business, actually.” Raj murmured. “There's a long stretch in August and September with nothing much going on.” 

“We'll discuss it at the next town meeting,” Dorothy announced. “Which, lemme remind all ya'll, is open to everyone, even non-residents.” She pointedly looked at a trio of 'birdies' who were keeping a low profile in the shade of a tree. They were Visarsh visitors and God alone knew what they were making of all this. They stared back at Dorothy as if stunned by the invitation, their feathers spiking. 

Anton backed her up. “Come and see how we do things here!” he called to them and the tallest male gulped. Winston could practically read his mind. Participate in government? In someone _else's_ government?! Great Egg.

Dorothy was continuing on, “Meanwhile, everyone having a good time?” Yeah! “Are we all ready to win some prizes?!” Hell, yeah! Winston was strongly reminded of Peter Venkman. Pete and Dorothy would have gotten along. Maybe Pete could've headed off this heartbreak at the pass. 

Winston shook himself. What heartbreak?! Everything was fine! Fine as frog's fur, yes, indeedy.

But, oh, he missed his dear June. She'd made sense of so much. Or, at least she could talk through a problem until it just didn't matter anymore. He forced himself to be cool and pay attention as _(Dad, can't you call me Dottie like everyone else? No, I can't. I named you Dorothy.)_ Dorothy pointed out the swanky prizes on the grandstand donated by local businesses. There was a huge gas grill from Lowe's (very popular) five beautiful creations from the Cake Or Death bakery, several gift cards from all over, three autographed editions of Winston Zeddemore's finest (he waved and looked modest as the crowd gave him a mighty howl) a free house cleaning from the Cinderella Patrol, a bicycle from Mikes on Bikes, and a kids prize of a small, wooden treasure chest. It was filled with chocolate, fifty silver dollars, and glass diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. Oh, it all sparkled. Green and white and red and silver and gold casting their brilliance over the table. And once you ate all the candy you could keep the box. Winston suddenly wished he was six again, instead of Older Than Dirt, just so he could run his hands through it. 

“Aye, it's pretty isn't it?” a woman standing next to him said. 

“Yyyyeah,” Winston admitted without looking at her. “But I'd rather have the grill, of course,” he lied. Adults would want the grill. Adults. Kids. If Meaghan hadn't nagged him to death to come here he wouldn't have. His last chance, she said. For what? He wasn't wanted. Dorothy didn't care about his good, wise advice and guidance. She never had. 

_“Anton?! You think you're marrying Anton Francis Spengler? Absolutely not.”_

_“I'm not asking your permission, Dad. Either you can be a part of the wedding or you can stay home and sulk. What do you have against Anton anyway?”_

_“We have no idea who he is.”_

_“Who he is?! I practically grew up with him!”_

_“You know what I mean.”_

_“All I know is you don't like him because he doesn't admire you properly. God forbid someone not kiss the ass of the Almighty Reverend Doctor World-Saving Author Zeddemore.”_

_“That's enough, I'm leaving.”_

_“Well, don't let the door hit you in...”_

_“And I give this marriage three months!”_

_“You can leave right now, Dad.”_

 

It was all Dorothy's fault, of course it was. Any other child would be proud to have such a highly-admired, accomplished, and decorated father. Saved the world just how many times? The doctorate was honorary but the Pulitzer nomination wasn't. Eight, count 'em, EIGHT best sellers. Almost ninety years of wisdom and experience. But don't listen, don't ever listen. Oh, how sharper than a serpent's tooth...

“What goes before a fall, I wonder?” the woman asked him out of nowhere. Winston didn't answer. He moved away. Weirdo fans, they gave him the creeps.

A loud POP! POP! POP! rent the air and everyone jumped. Firecrackers? No! To Winston's amazement a Ford V8 squealed its thin tires as it appeared from a side alley, made a wide, illegal turn, and shot up the street. It was bristling with gangsters and molls and BARS. Browning Automatic Rifles! Or not. False gunfire echoed and Winston could smell the cheap gunpowder of his childhood. POP! POP! KAPOW! Sparks flew and the old car backfired with a BANG that got everyone excited. “Oh, noooo! Here comes the Barrow Gang!” Raj shouted.

“Bonnie and Clyde?!” Dorothy shrieked and she threw her hands up in despair. “Help! Help! Bonnie and Clyde are after the prizes!” The crowd roared with delight and surprise as the juggernaut stopped in front of the grandstand. Its vile crew came storming out. 'Bonnie' was six feet tall and smoking a cigar. 'Clyde' was a foot shorter and Chinese. There was another couple, the dreadful Buck and Blanche Barrow, and a girl dressed as a teenage boy, clearly the psychotic W.D. Jones of the gang. Winston actually smiled. Someone had done her homework and he was impressed.

Their first alarm disappeared and the confused but willing Visarsh left the shade of their tree for a closer look. No one squawked or pulled on their feathers so they entered the crowd.

Sheriff Paula pulled her pistol, which wasn't as weighty as it should be, and stepped in front of the mayor to fire off a warning shot. There wasn't even a bang, just a disappointing _snap!_ The crowd laughed as Paula looked at her peacemaker in disgust and threw it aside. “HALT! Your kind isn't wanted! Get outta here!” 

“Boooo! Go away!” Raj shouted and brave souls took up the call. Boooo! Beat it! The crowd really got into the fun of it as Bonnie slooowwwly turned to take them all in. Police! Arrest them! Get outta town! Bonnie took her cigar out of her mouth and tapped the ash off the end with a pointy finger. Then she clenched it in her teeth again and fired off her sub-machine gun over the heads of the crowd. POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOP! Much shrieking and ducking and laughter. 

“You're under arrest!” Paula shouted, flashing her badge at the miscreants. “You have the right to remain...” Clyde took aim with his Browning. POP! “Arrrrgh!” Paula clenched her chest and staggered to the left. She staggered to the right. Then she spun around and collapsed into Raj's arms. He bore her to the boards in despair. (Then he just had to put a hand on his back with a pained expression and the crowd laughed again.) 

He shook his fist at Clyde. “Punk!” POP! “Ouch!” And Raj was gone, too, poor man. Winston shook his head. It was a black day for Bon Vivant.

Dorothy jumped forward. “How dare you? Eek!” She jumped back as the grandstand was stormed and what council members didn't run into the crowd were taken prisoner. Winston held back but he was soon singled out.

“Hands up, Ghostbuster! And get up here so everybody can see you!” W.D. barked at him. 

“I shit bigger'n you,” Winston mumbled and the girl almost choked to death, giggling. Still, for form's sake, she aimed her rifle at his foot. POP! “Owie!” Winston was still spry enough to give a pained hop. Then he shuffled to the front dragging his foot behind him, his hands up and his chest out in defiance. He was herded to the side of the mayor. The crowd was tickled by the downfall of a legendary Ghostbuster. Cameras flashed and they smiled and waved at him. Oh! How quickly they forget. Winston glanced at his daughter. She was staring up at him as if his nostril hairs were on fire. What, didn't she know that he could have fun, too?

Paula and Raj were left where they were to be tripped over. And they were tripped over by everyone and often. The kids loved that bit. Bonnie yanked the mayor's pin-mike off with great violence and shouted into it. “HEY! IS THIS THING ON?!” 

“Yes,” said the council, in unison.

“HELLO, BON VIVANT! SAY, 'HELLOOO, BONNIE!'” She leveled her sub-gun at the townspeople.

“Hellooo, Bonnie!”

“VERY GOOD. WE HAVEN”T SEEN YA'LL SINCE WE KNOCKED OVER RANDOLPH'S GROCERY STORE IN 1933! GOT AWAY WITH FOUR DOLLARS AND EIGHT CENTS! SHOT MR. RANDOLPH IN THE LEG! YAYYYY!!!” She aimed again.

“Yayyy!”

“Really?” Winston whispered.

“Really,” Dorothy answered. “It's our greatest claim to fame.” Winston was impressed, as any sane mystery/crime writer would be.

“WHO WANTS TO HAVE SOME REAL FUN?” Bonnie boomed. The crowd cheered. Clyde dashed to the car and pulled out a violin case. He ran back up the steps of the grandstand and presented it to his lady-love. She opened it with ceremony and pulled out a sheet of paper. “IT'S POETRY TIME!” The crowd groaned. “WHAT?!” Bonnie shouted and Clyde frantically clapped his hands together. The good citizens of Bon Vivant wisely did the same. “THAT'S BETTER! _Ahem!”_ She gave the paper a shake to stiffen it and began to read while her gang tried to fit the enormous rhino of a gas grill into their getaway car.

“You've read the legend of Jesse James  
Of how he lived and died;  
If you're still in need  
Of something to read,  
Here's the Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde.”

Of course he'd had fun with Dorothy. All those trips to the zoo to see her favorite panda bear...oh, wait, that was Agatha. Well, he'd gone to see almost every basketball game she ever played...no, that was Margery, the family sports nut. Well, how about...no, that was Meaghan. But then there was...no, that was Kenny. There was that time...no. Of course they'd had fun together! Of course they had! Sometimes. When he wasn't writing. Or traveling on a book tour. Or researching. Or giving speeches. Or being dragged out of retirement to help fight the latest demonic invasion. Or...or...when was it?

“They call them cold-blooded killers;  
They say they're heartless and mean;  
But I say this with pride,  
That I once knew Clyde  
When he was honest and upright and clean. 

But the laws fooled around,  
Kept taking him down  
And locking him up in a cell,  
Till he said to me,  
'I'll never be free,  
So I'll meet those bastards in hell.'”

“Look at this,” Anton whispered and held his hand out. In his palm was a shining image cast from his wrist comm. It was a shot of Paula and Dorothy doing the Charleston. They were smiling, their friends were smiling, their families were smiling, the town was smiling. But there was an old, upright man to their left. Alone of them all, he was scowling, his mouth turned down in mulish, ugly disapproval. What was his problem? Everyone else was having a good time. Where was his sense of humor? Of occasion? Of perspective? What an old fart. What a mean old fart. “I think I'll put this in the Christmas newsletter,” Anton said, and there was definitely a hint of sarcastic malice there. He leaned a bit closer and his voice dropped to a smooth whisper. “This place was a shithole before Dorothy turned it around. Be proud of her or I'll break your kneecaps.” Suddenly Anton was distracted. Blanche Barrow wasn't paying attention where she was waving her tommy-gun and Dorothy almost lost her nose. Anton pulled his wife into the safety of his arms and she leaned against him. 

Tableau. 

Winston stared at them.

And gave up.

He shaded his eyes with his hands as if the sun was blinding him and backed away until he was standing behind the hostages, his ramrod straight back slumped into an exhausted S. His face burned with shame. Oh, Pete, he thought. You would have headed this off at the pass years ago. The long-gone psychologist had been so good, so damn good, at deflating out-of-control egos. Winston had been sorely lacking in deflators in his old age. Who dared question such a venerable man? Not many. Except Anton, of course, the vicious bastard. And Janine sure shouted at him, interfering old woman, and Meaghan and Kenny and Agatha and Margery...but they had all been in the wrong! Clearly wrong. Clearly. 

“From heart-break some people have suffered;  
From weariness some people have died;  
But take all in all,  
Your troubles are small  
Till you get like Bonnie and Clyde.”

Oh, god. Oh, god, what had he done? A sad, raspy voice broke into his grief. “Don't feel too badly, boy. She was raised with love. Not much of yours but still...” The crazy fan was back and Winston wearily turned towards her at last. He met the ancient eyes of the Gwrach-y-rhibyn standing calmly beside him. 

“Nooo,” he groaned and his heart gave a sudden, painful heave. “No, not now. I can't go now. I have to fix this. Don't tell me it's too late.”

“It's too late.” She shrugged and the scales on her wings rippled in the sun. Could no one see her? Evidently not. Winston's heart gave another lurch and a shooting pain traveled down his arm. Oh. Is that how it's going to be? The heart. Just like Ray and Egon. In a way. But not now. Not now!

"Don't think they're too tough or too desperate,  
they know that the law always wins;  
They've ducked bullets before,  
but they don't ignore  
That death is the wages of sin."

“But Dorothy. I've ruined her life,” Winston said. 

The hag snorted. “Ach, you really are full of y'self, eh? Just remember that picture. Everybody havin' a great time _despite_ you.”

"THE END!” Clyde led the applause and Bonnie did a series of outrageous Shirley Temple curtseys, the forefinger of one hand under her chin and the other hand waving her gun. Dorothy hit a sensor on her watch and the park was suddenly full of sirens. Leaping from the bushes and even from the limbs of the trees came Bon Vivant's version of the Keystone Kops. They charged the grandstand. “Save us! Save us!” their fearless leader shrieked. “Save us from any more poetry!” 

“But I liked the little rhyming speech about dying!” called one of the Visarsh, awkwardly getting into the spirit of things and earning a round of applause for herself. She preened.

“THANK YOU! I'LL KILL YOU LAST!” Bonnie let loose with her sub-gun again, “ACK!ACK!ACK!ACK!ACK!” and the Visarsh beat feet in a whirl of feathers and alien laughter. The 'police' also somersaulted for cover. “WE SWORE WHEN WE CAME BACK THAT WE'D GET MORE THAN FOUR LOUSY BUCKS!” She dove for the treasure chest and clutched it. “WHO ELSE WANTS SOME?!”

Meeeeee!

The Barrow Gang shot their way out of the park with Bonnie throwing handfuls of treasure left and right. The kids whooped and scrambled in the grass. Even the adults made a grab for the coins that rolled their way. Bonnie had an arm on her, so did Clyde, and so did... Winston's head dipped and the world went grey. He leaned against the back railing until his faintness passed. He looked up to see the Barrow Gang riding into the sunset, guns popping, hats waving in the air while their adoring fans cheered and cheered. "Are they gone?" he heard Dorothy whimper. "Geeeeeez!" 

Off into the sunset. Yes, go. Just go. Once again, and for the last time, Winston gave up. He straightened. First his back. Then his tie.

Anton approached, frowning. Thought the old man was off pouting, huh? No, not this time. “Anton,” Winston whispered and the young man stopped in front of him. “Call an ambulance, please, and have it meet me down the road. I don't want to keel over here and ruin everyone's good time.” 

“What is it?”

“I just swallowed something bitter. Don't worry about it.” He looked for his daughter. Dorothy was directing the resurrection of the dead while the band revved up again. It's gonna be a hot time in the old town tonight. Raj and Paula were getting up and laughing, the crowd was clapping, the raid had been a terrific success. 

What a wonderful town. What a brilliant young woman.

“Dorothy, I want to say something,” Winston motioned her over while Anton moved away to mumble into his wrist. 

Dorothy resignedly left her hostess duties to come closer. “Yeah, Dad?”

“I'm sorry.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“Okay,” she said and looked at him with calm eyes. She would not be drawn. Okay, indeed.

“I'm going back to the hotel,” he sighed.

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“No reason! I...just don't feel well.” He understood, now, her defensiveness. Of course he'd never been able to reach her. She'd had a lifetime to build up her armor. 

She relaxed and checked her watch again. Wow, she had her day timed well. “You'll miss the fireworks.”

Damn. He loved fireworks. Winston shook his head. “Eh, I'm a little tired. But I did have fun. You know I'm not used to it.”

Dorothy's mask slipped again to show her surprise. Then she smiled, a jolly politician's smile that meant nothing. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.” He almost tacked a _baby_ onto the end. G'night, baby, like good fathers do. But he didn't. She was June's baby, Meaghan's baby, and Anton's, and Agatha's, and Margery's, and Ken's and Jack's, Leonie's, Jackie's, Therese's, Luiz's, Fred's... Well, thank god for that. Thank god for them. For all of them. Winston's throat tightened and he turned away. 

And so ended the most peaceful conversation Winston had ever had with his youngest. The Sheriff approached with a giant candy jar full of names and the Mayor of Bon Vivant went back to a job she loved, specifically, at this moment, handing out the prizes the Barrow Gang left behind. She pulled another mic pin out of her pocket, this one shaped like a lily, and pinned it to her shoulder. Then she turned it on with an enthusiastic smack of her hand.

At exactly that moment another terrible, squeezing pain hit Winston in the chest. He hid it well as he went down the steps, through the happy throngs (gladhanding a few that wanted to make contact with the Great Winston Zeddemore, god, Dorothy actually gets it honest) out of the park, and down the street. He could still hear her amplified voice behind him. One of the Visarsh had won the housecleaning and there was merriment over how in the hell was he going to collect his prize when his home nest was so many light-years away? 

Finally Winston realized that Anton was walking beside him. “Last chance to tell me who you are and where you came from, Anton,” he murmured.

“Maybe I don't know?”

“Maybe you're an egg-sucking liar and a monster.”

“Maybe.”

It was getting harder and harder for Winston to put one foot in front of the other. And there wasn't enough oxygen. He drew the deepest breath he could. “I'm sorry. You're no monster. What a thing to say. I don't care if Egon grew you from a kit, you're all right.”

“High praise.” 

“I'm serious. And I really am sorry. I said so to Dorothy and it bounced right off her. And that's my fault, too.” Another breath, another foot forward. “I get it now. I just couldn't admit I was wrong. God forbid I be wrong. I had built of myself a temple of virtue and self-made accomplishment and I couldn't allow anyone to assail it.”

“Stop writing, Winston. Especially stop writing so badly.” Had he said such a thing a day earlier Dr. Winston Zeddemore, author, philanthropist, pundit, would have shot to the moon in a fury. Now Winston bowed his head and silently laughed. Yeah, that had been pretty bad. "What exactly are you sorry about?" Anton asked.

“I was almost retired and definitely tired when Dorothy came along. I handed her over to others. And then I blamed her for not liking me. You, too. I never gave either of you a chance. I was wrong, Anton” he repeated. “And it's too late to make it right.” He looked up at the strange young man. Anton was grim. It was probably Winston's imagination but he seemed a little sad, too. Well, that was more than he deserved. “Goodbye, then.”

Anton stopped in his tracks as realization visibly took him. He looked cautiously around.

Winston became helpful. “She was on the grandstand. Now she's up in that live oak over there.” He pointed and Anton became a witness to a manifestation few had seen or wanted to see. An ugly hag of death half-hidden in the gnarled branches of an old tree, looking down on them. Anton didn't say a word. “The Grakky Ribbon. I can't pronounce it. Only Ray and your dad could. But anyway. Tell everyone I love them. I love Dorothy, too, believe me, no matter what anybody says.” 

Anton sighed and ran a hand through his platinum hair. “Which is probably why you nagged her endlessly. But Dottie...”

“She'll survive.” 

Anton blinked in surprise. Then, “Yes,” was all he said. Winston nodded. Fool. Stupid, stubborn, old fool. Again, delayed remorse was better than none at all in this lifetime. Forgiveness would have to wait for the next. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...wasn't going to happen, sorry. Winston gasped for air and concentrated on his progress. One step, two step, red step, blue step. He noticed the ambulance was just ahead. He knew he'd never reach it. ”Tell Dottie what I said. Tell her I'm sorry I was a blight in her life. Tell her I called her 'Dottie,' she'll be happy.”

“She's already happy, Winston, get over yourself.” 

Just like the hag said. This time Winston listened. It was both a blessing and a blow to the ego knowing he probably had no great effect on his daughter's life. Nobody was perfect. Not even him. “I swear I just heard Peter Venkman in you then,” he said. Anton shrugged and smiled. And said nothing. Aw, t'hell with Anton anyway. Winston fought back another wave of pain. “But I really am sorry. You can't dismiss that.”

“I don't. Believe me, I don't. And I'll tell her.”

Winston nodded, relieved, and took a last look at the young man beside him. Anton was another loss. Egon's child. Or clone. Or whatever. Winston only liked his mysteries in print. He could've wept but he was too tired. 

Suddenly, the pain disappeared. Winston doubted that was a good sign but he didn't stop walking. He looked up into the blue of the sky. He saw the tiniest red dot bobbing along in front of the white clouds. Someone's balloon had gotten away. Away, away, away over the trees and the hills to never get caught on a light pole. Away forever. All in all I'd rather be in Philadelphia. Either this wallpaper goes or I do. Excuse my dust. Don't be a fool, man, they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn at this distance. I'm just going out, I may be some time. Hit the brakes, Clyde.

“Oh, lord, thank you for giving me the strength to take the stick out. And please have mercy on me 'cause I sure wouldn't,” Winston said. 

He was so exhausted now. And he damn sure wasn't doing anybody any good around here so, for the last time...

He left.

 

 

President Spengler listened to the latest reactionary goon, Senator Brant, grub for votes by playing on the fears of gullible constituents. It rarely failed. Set up a scarecrow and name it Unfair Taxes or the Collapse of Values and shake it at people hard enough to distract them from political graft and other 'regrettable errors of judgment.' This year's scarecrow was INVADERS aka Interstellar Immigration and the President's opponents were shaking, shaking, shaking that scarecrow like rabid witch doctors. “Earth is for Humans! It's our home, where we evolved ...blah, blah blah...they're taking our jobs and the President doesn't care!”

“Oh, please,” Dottie said with disgust and she waved a hand at the holo-projector. The chatter died away and she was left looking at a pleasant bowl of cherries again. Where would Earth be without the contributions of their far-off Neighbors? Where would their Neighbors be if Earth hadn't taken them into their hearts and their home? Brant and his goons had yowled about resources (like humanity was going to suffer a Great Rat Shortage, honestly) and political non-interference. She hadn't listened, she wasn't where she was to nurse her approval ratings. If her years in office were going to be remembered for anything they would be remembered for mistakes of compassion, not mistakes of xenophobic bullshit.

There was a scratching at the door of the Oval Office. Dorothy smoothed her face and made a 'come in' motion with her hand. Obediently the doors swung open and Senator Virish of California stalked in with a briefcase in his claws. Half his feathers had fallen out from sheer stress and he threw himself onto the roost in front of Dorothy's desk with a disgruntled squawk. “Don't let Brant get to you, Virish,” the President soothed and opened a drawer to jab an old-fashioned red button. Had it been the Doomsday button? Or an intercom? No one knew. Whatever its ominous origin, nowadays it was the quick way to request tea. "He's only desperate."

Virish shook his head and began to organize his scrolls for this meeting and a dead rat for later. (For the Visarsh 'birdies' could not survive on tea alone.) “Oh, I'm not worried about name-calling, believe me. Granny has been telling me stories of the political system she grew up with on the Old World. Blood duels. Kidnappings. Poison. It's giving me nightmares. Nah, these patches are caused by my father, the bitter old coot. But you don't want to hear all that, Madame President.”

Dorothy smiled and shrugged. “I had an old coot, too. I wouldn't have a feather left if he were alive today.”

Virish nodded. “Fathers. Pah!” he said.

“Pah!” Dorothy agreed but at the heart of her she had a small regret. A very small one that the Great and Powerful Winston hadn't hung on long enough to see her now. Ah, well.

Her silver wrist comm gave a tweet. “Hey, Anton,” she greeted the First Gentleman. 

“Hey,” he answered with an evil chuckle and she was immediately on her guard. 

“What have you done?”

“Me? Nothing!” She exchanged a horrified look with Virish. “I just wanted to let you know that Senator Brant has a sex-droid. Someone hacked it. It's a Bworis with extra tentacles and its programming has been splashed all over the media. His kinks are disgusting, they really are. Possibly criminal.”

“Anton!” she cried and Virish hooted with vindictive laughter.

Politics, dear god. She should have been a gardener. 

 

 

.


	6. Over the Rainbow

*****“The Munchkins called me because a new witch has just dropped a house on the Wicked Witch of the East. There's the house. And here you are. And that's all that's left of the Witch of the East. Now what the Munchkins want to know is...

...are you a good witch or a bad witch?”*****

“The last to go will see the first three go before her,” the ancient woman in the recliner mumbled and opened her eyes.

Her great granddaughter, lounging on the comfy sofa with her baby girl sprawled on her chest, opened hers. “What was that, Gran?” she asked in that soft British accent that Janine loved. 

“Oh, just havin' a dream about Oz. Heh.”

“Ooh, sounds nice. Is Oz in the Bahamas?” 

"You gotta read those classics I send you, Sam." Janine didn't want to be a nag so she didn't continue on with _Or watch the movie. Or jog through the holo-adventure. Or just look up a synopsis. Eeesh, you kids._

"I will, yes," Samantha Venkman-Stantz promised for the thousandth time. The two women stretched and listened to the soft October rain pattering against the window and the warm fire popping in the hearth. Sam yawned and said, “I should get up. I told Fredrica I'd make her a special dinner before she gets here.” 

“Er. Fred eats...I mean, Fredrica eats rocks, right?” Janine said.

“She loves the smell of human food, especially dessert.”

“Does she? Hee! I can't wait to meet her.” Oh, Fred, how could you? If Sam only knew what Janine knew. 

“You'd have met her yesterday but she's afraid of the teleporter. She'll make it in tonight. I'm going to make chocolate chip bis...cookies.” 

“Mmmm, make extra or I'll eat 'em all.”

“I will.” The rain dripped from the calm, grey sky and Sam sighed under her warm throw. Little Phoebe stirred sleepily but didn't wake. Janine feasted her eyes on them. She was so proud of Sam. She wanted to become an artist, she became an artist. She also wanted to be successful at it, against all odds, she became successful at it. She wanted a baby, she got one, thanks to sperm donated from Avon Spengler, the great Dorothy Spengler's grandson. Which made Phoebe a descendant of all five original Ghostbusters, amazing. You couldn't tell it by looking at the little froggy. Phoebe had silky black hair, grey eyes, and who knew where that adorable little bow of a mouth came from? Yeah, Sam had everything. Everything except a decent woman who would love and respect her as she deserved. Janine made a fist. Poor Sam's terrible choices were legend. Then Fredrica happened along, hallelujah, and Janine wasn't gonna say a word.

“Yep, I'm getting up now,” Sam slurred. A minute or two passed and a log gently shifted in the fire with a _whumpf_ sound. Sam slowly poked a bare foot out from under her cover and set it on Janine's woven carpet. “There. I'm up.”

Janine laughed and called “Bunter!”

A veddy proper and handsome man in a dark suit appeared and came forward. “You called, Madam?” he said, bowing slightly to Janine.

“Please give us an early supper with chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Sam promised Fredrica some good smells but we can't move.”

“It does seem that on days like today one's natural tendency towards sloth is increased. I thought it was an indication of advanced age,” Bunter replied, raising an eyebrow at Janine.

Janine smiled sweetly. “It's an indication of being human. See? Even the baby is konked out.”

Bunter turned to look and Sam indicated Phoebe with a flourish. “So, I see. It's a genetic failing that's bred true,” he said.

“Scram before I turn you into a toaster.”

“Scramming, Madam,” he did a heel turn and marched off into the direction of the kitchen. 

Sam giggled and the motion made Phoebe stir. Sam patted her bottom to settle her again. “Gran, I'll trade you all the baked goods in the world for Bunter.”

“That thing you don't want. He's trying to kill me.”

“Oh, only offhandedly, Madam,” drifted back to them and Sam laughed outright. Phoebe startled but, luckily, didn't cry. Janine just smiled. Then the fire popped and, as if on cue, they all began to doze again. Sam was tired. Janine was old. Phoebe was young. It was a perfect day for letting the world go by.

Bunter quietly reappeared, a bowl of eggs, butter, and sugar in one arm that he was gently stirring into a batter, and watched them for a moment. His face was programmed to appear, always, pleasant and impassive and so it was now. But save for the motion of his arm he was strangely still. He concentrated on Janine. Perhaps his geriatric sub-program was assessing her condition. Her hands sluggishly flexed on her blanket and he quickly, and silently, moved out of sight.

And Janine dreamed a memory. 

_Ray was excited about passing on his unique knowledge, his lecture almost tumbling out of him. “You see, you don't need Latin or Greek or Ancient Sumerian. It's the intensity of the feeling behind the words, not the words themselves. Words are just a focus. I wasn't kidding when I said I can start a fire with my power using the Oscar Meyer Wiener jingle.”_

_“I don't feel any power in me, Ray,” Janine grumped. “It doesn't matter what words I use. It won't work.”_

_“Ditto,” said Winston. “How are we gonna direct what we can't see, hear, taste, or touch?”_

_“I AM THE GOD OF HELLFIRE!”_

_“Peter, that's not helpful,” reproved Egon. “And I don't feel any zing in my blood either, so to speak.”_

_Ray Stantz rubbed his hands together like an eeeeevil genius would. “Trust me, guys. You'll learn.”_

 

Janine realized a hot cookie fresh from the oven was being waved under her nose. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, Madam,” Bunter said. “'Fredrica' has arrived and there's a lovely pit in the kitchen garden as a result.” He whirled a finger upwards in imitation and disapproval of the rock troll's subterranean means of getting around. 

Janine could move pretty fast, herself. She snatched the cookie and wolfed it down. Bunter counted his fingers in alarm as Janine sat up and looked around. The sofa was empty. Sam and Phoebe had gone to greet their best beloved. That gave her just enough time to get presentable. “That was delicious, Bunter, thank you,” she said and smoothed down her thin, white hair. 

“Are we going to continue with this charade?” he asked. “I think Miss Samantha has a right to know exactly who she's dealing with.”

“You've been watching those old soap operas again, haven't you?” Janine asked. Bunter said nothing. “Well, better than 'Terminator,' I guess. Oh, the thrilling tales of a machine that came alive and went crazy.”

Bunter looked wounded. “Don't mock my bedtime stories. They soothe me.”

Janine snorted. “Okay, HAL. But to answer your question, Sam knows. Deep down inside she's always known. What movie is that line from?”

“Several,” he sniffed. “Don't distract me. If she knows, why doesn't she acknowledge it?”

“She's not ready.”

“Ready?! Either she has the information or she doesn't.”

“Human minds and hearts aren't that efficient, Bunter. And Sam, well, for once her blindness is working in her favor."

“I don't understand. I don't understand.” It was said as if he were announcing tea, showing frustration wasn't in his programming, but Janine could feel it radiating from him. He looked down at her with his usual calm smile. “But I will understand soon.”

“Maybe,” she said. 

The doors burst open and Fredrica made her triumphant entrance. She was a beautiful hourglass figure of glittering stone, her hair was flowing sand, and her smile was wide. “OH! Mrs. Stantz!! How delightful to meet you at last, at last!”

Janine threw her arms wide. “Why, hellooooo! Sam's told me so much about you!” Fredrica rushed forward and the two air-kissed. “Mua! Mua!” 

Sam smiled in bafflement while Phoebe burbled in her arms, “Yes, uh, this is my gran. My great grandmother Stantz, I should say.”

“Call me Janine.”

“Janine Stantz, the Ghostbuster. You won't bust me, will you?” Fredrica batted her sapphire (literally) eyes at the old woman.

“I haven't busted a rock troll since, oh, what was his name? Over fifty years ago.”

“Fred's her uncle,” Sam laughed. "She's just like him." Fredrica folded her hands primly together. 

"You always did like 'ol Fred. But who didn't?"

“I'm going to become quite ill, quite soon,” Bunter muttered and it was a genuine mutter, too. 

Janine was impressed but, “Shut up, Bunter. Is supper ready? Go and get the white quartz for our guest, too. I have a stockpile in the second pantry.” Bunter left with as much dignity as he could approximate.

Sam was astonished. “Fredrica loves white quartz! How did you know?”

“I know from trolls,” Janine said and grinned. “It's gonna go straight to your hips, my dear.” Fredrica collapsed back onto the sofa near helpless with laughter while Samantha looked from one to the other. 

Little Phoebe was distracted by something behind her mother. Something outside the window. 

“Bweeee?” asked Phoebe, looking up at the adults. Sam wasn't paying attention, Fredrica was explaining away her laughter by complaining about the difficulty she had in arriving thanks to the new international subway system. Phoebe gave up. She looked at the window again and, after a little wide-eyed hesitation, broke out into a drooly grin and waved, her little hand opening and closing. A shadow waved back.

Janine noticed and turned to look. She almost screamed but a lifetime of cool under pressure kicked in. It was her. Was it her? Oh, yes, definitely her. Now? No, not now. Bunter wouldn't dare, not while there were guests in the house. Tonight then, probably. “Wheeew,” Janine breathed out and put a happy mask on her face. Tonight. Tonight was the night. Good. Bring it.

Janine glanced back at the window, nodded in acknowledgment at the figure out there, then quickly looked away again before the troll saw. While being, obviously, an adaptable person he...she could nevertheless nurse a grudge like nobody's business. Losing Ray so long ago had hit hard and Fred had criss-crossed Wales for a year before giving up on finding the Grakky Ribbon. As if it were her fault. Huh, the old bird looked comfortable out there. Hag of the Drizzle, indeed. 

“How do you like the smells, Fredrica? Bunter slaved all afternoon for you,” Janine quickly said. “We would have cooked something but we all had a bone in our leg.”

“Smells wonderful. Is that cookies?” the troll breathed deep. “Where would you be without Bunter?”

“Er.”

Speak of the devil. “Dinner is served, Madam,” Bunter announced from the door. 

“Coming. Someone help me up,” Janine said and Fredrica gently did the honors. Janine had always been proud of not needing a walker or cane but she gratefully leaned on Fredrica's strong arm of stone as she slowly walked to the dining room. Trepidation was kicking in. She had clung to life so long for a reason. She enjoyed it. Mixed with all the rending heartbreak and loss there had been love and triumph and fun. And chocolate chip cookies. Trade the familiarity of all that for what? No one knew. She sighed. None of her loved ones had popped back for a visit, not even Ray. Ah, geez, it was gonna be a long night.

“You okay, Gran?”

“Oh, I'm fine. I'm still half-asleep.” She covered her mouth with an arthritic hand and yawned a bit, her eyes downcast. 

Unseen by all Phoebe looked back and waved at the window one last time. 

 

_”You redecorated again! Wow, great job.” Ray took off his jacket as he drifted around her small apartment and poked uninvited into everything._

_Janine didn't mind. She was proud of her place and wanted to show it off. “Thanks, but I had the professionals do this. The last time I did it all by myself in one day.”_

_Ray smiled at her, he looked mischievous. Maybe a little sympathetic. “I remember. I think that's called a manic phase, Janine.”_

_Janine shrugged and admitted, “Yeah, I was a little upset.” Giving up on Egon had been hard but, god, it had felt good. She ran her fingers down the paper, over the fine pattern of sea-blue vines on a creamy yellow background. Step back two paces and her walls became a subdued, almost misty green. She loved the effect. “Now it's perfect. And I replaced all the fifth-hand furniture I inherited from my family when I moved in. I've been saving up.” She threw herself onto her new, ridiculously comfortable sofa. She sighed with joy, then jumped up again. She imperiously pointed at it. “Try it. Feel the power of the Comfy Couch.”_

_Ray obligingly dove headlong into it (kindly keeping his boots draped over the edge) and sunk slowly into the puffy cushions. “Uh? Oh. Oh, wow, help. This is nice.” He snuggled deeper and Janine looked down at him fondly. Why, he looked damn good in that rugged, outdoorsy shirt. Strong back and broad shoulders. He's a lumberjack and he's okay! She wouldn't tell him so, it would make him self-conscious. He could be shy sometimes, still, even after all he'd been through._

_“Guests don't wanna leave,” she said instead._

_“I don't wanna leave. This is niiiiiiiice,” he said. She beamed at him and sashayed around the place, adjusting a dust-catcher here and picking a dead leaf off one of her many houseplants there. So many plants. They lowered the temperature by about 10 degrees and made the place smell as fresh as a storybook forest. She loved her place. Loved it, loved it, loved it. To her surprise, Ray then asked an odd, and a little bit rude, question. “Janine, why am I here?”_

_“'Scuse me! In a rush?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him, before she went into the kitchen. She opened the fridge door. “Look at this.” He raised himself up onto his elbows and looked. Janine saw his eyes go wide with disgust and was gratified. The green ooze inside her fridge wasn't dripping anymore but it had congealed into a wet, sticky mass that was gluing the sad remains of her food together. “This is why I didn't offer you a drink when you came in.”_

_“Slimer,” Ray groaned and covered his head with a velvet throw pillow. “I'm not cleaning that.”_

_“I don't want you to clean it, dork, I want you to work your mojo to keep Slimer out of my fridge and away from my place. I love that stupid, green blob but if he won't behave then I won't put up with him.” Ray groaned and snuggled deeper into the couch. “Please?” Janine said. There was a whine from the depths. “Please?” she said again and sidled across the room to loom over him. She pushed down on his back then let go. The deep cushions bounced him upward. She pushed him back down again and then again, boing, boing, boing. “Please, please, please?”_

_“Janine!”_

_“You don't have to do it right this second. Just, y'know, soon? I can't keep food in the house if Slimer is going to ruin it and I don't wanna be hungreeee!” Boing!_

_“Eat out.”_

_“Ray!” Boing! Boing!_

_“Okay, okay! Gahd.” He turned over in his sea of comfort like a lazy whale and gazed up at her, amused._

_Janine grinned down at him. “I'll owe you. I'll get you a big book or twenty bucks, whichever is less.”_

_Greed lit his face and Janine laughed. “Sold,” he said. “And our next magic lesson will be How to Block Ectoplasmic Critters. But I'll go ahead and do it now.”_

_“I'm not keeping you?”_

_“Oh, you're keeping me, all right.”_

_“From what?”_

_“I meant that literally.” At her look of confusion he smiled and crooked a finger at her. “I'll explain. Come closer, my dear,” he said. She suspiciously leaned down an inch further. “Look at my thumb.” He raised the thumb of his right hand into the air._

_“Oookayy,” Janine said, and looked at it. Ray opened his fingers, took a deep breath, and blew a stream of warm air onto the palm of his hand. Light shimmered around it then she was staring at his hand again. Nothing happened. “What am I looking for?” she asked._

_He reached up and gently cupped her face. The last twenty minutes of time from Ray's point of view, his emotions, his thoughts, his decision to act...act on his feelings! swooped into her mind and soul with a warm rush and she cried out in surprise. She saw it. She saw everything, felt everything. Janine has invited him over. Excitement! Would he walk into a romantic candlelit setting? Doubtful but fun to imagine, always. He has arrived and Janine warmly welcomes him in. Feels good. She's beautiful. Hey, she changed her apartment. Looks great. Couch is soooo comfortable. Come share the couch with me, Janine. Fear. He doesn't dare make that offer. Love. Desire. She's not coming to the point. Why is he here? ACK! HE SAID THAT OUT LOUD! Janine is mildly offended. Remorse. Don't beg forgiveness, that's what the Old Ray (tm) would do. Oh, she wanted a favor. Disappointment. Now she's touching him. Oh, god, desire. Laughter. Love. Desire. Well, damn it, just ask. Today's the day? Yes. Fear. Doubt. Fear. Her skin is so soft. “Janine?” he asked._

_“Buh?!” she gasped and flopped to the floor. His hand dropped. He was breathing hard, she was, too. She touched her cheek. She could still feel his fingers. "What? You? What?!"_

_He raised himself up towards her and smiled, it was genuine but a little crooked. “Hullooo,” he said. “I'm Dr. Raymond Francis Stantz.”_

 

“You're gonna be sorrrrreeee,” Janine whispered to Fredrica as they hugged goodbye. 

“No, I woooon't,” the living rock whispered back. “She'll never knowwww!” 

Janine groaned. Sam wasn't stupid. Fredrica's ass was going to be ground flat someday. Janine smiled up at her oldest, dearest friend. “Good luck, Fredrica. I love you.” 

The troll grinned, "Love you, too," and dropped a rock-solid kiss on top of Janine's head. Then she bounded away to jump into Sam's hovercar. It was an exact replica of Luke Skywalker's skimmer but Sam didn't know that. Very few of her generation knew what Star Wars was. Ancient, obsolete stuff. 

“G'night, Gran! We're all going to have such a good time at the New Guggenheim tomorrow.”

“Now that the ban's lifted. I...I can't wait. Good night, sweetie.” Janine hugged Sam and breathed in Phoebe's warm baby smell. For the last time, oh god. Sam kissed her then trotted to her car. She handed Phoebe over to Fredrica, who secured the baby gently but tightly, before hopping behind the controls herself. One last wave and the two roared off for the far lights of New York, their new home. Janine stood in the fresh night air and watched them go. Then she stared after where they went for a long time. Her gaze lingered on New York, her own home for her entire life. Then she looked up at the stars. Those beautiful, diamond stars, a comforting constant in a life that had seen so much change. They reflected in her eyes. 

“D'you know what it's like to be old, Bunter?” she softly whispered.

“No, madam,” he answered from directly behind her. Of course.

She turned around and faced him. Over his shoulder, standing on the roof of her fine house, the Gwrach-y-rhibyn silently raised her wings until they pointed to the sky then lowered them. Janine took heart from the tribute. Not that her courage was wavering. It just felt good to not be alone now, now at this time. And as easily as that, Janine, out of everyone, finally understood what the Gwrach-y-rhibyn was all about. 

Janine smiled up at her (Old Aunt Enid) and then she focused on Bunter standing tall a little too close. He wasn't doing it to threaten her. She could feel the fear and dread pouring off him, poor thing. Was he even aware of what he was feeling? He was aware of his course, how about the consequences? And why? What the hell, Bunter? We'll see. “Getting old,” she said. “I'll tell you all about it. I was on vacation in Singapore and I saw a street vendor making meatballs. He laid a beef roast out on a marble slab. Then he took out two wooden clubs and started whacking it. He pounded it and pounded it and he didn't stop when it became hamburger. He kept on and kept on until it was a pink protein slime. Then he spiced it, balled it up and fried it in hot oil. It was delicious. But I never wanted to see such a thing again. I was living it. I still am.”

“Living it. Living as a meatball?”

“It's a metaphor, you dork. I was grey and old thirty years ago and now? Good god. When you get to be this age there's been so many knocks, so many losses. So many people I loved. Just so many. Gone. Bits of myself, as well. My joints, my heart, and even my appendix, of all things, have been replaced. My old self, too, that's long gone. I'm not the same person I was five years ago, can you imagine who I was when I was young? And strong and beautiful? And stupid and careless?”

“I've seen the vids.”

“You ain't seen nothin'. And Janine Melnitz isn't the only thing that's long gone, all my old haunts have disappeared. New York has been built over about eight times. There's so many parks and greenways now we've got deer wandering down Broadway, can you imagine? And that's good for the deer but what about the shows and the lights and the excitement? I'm the only one alive that remembers Old New York at all and people think I'm crazy for missing it. 'Cause of the filth and the violence. Shaaaame on me for missing that concrete jungle. Idiots. ” Janine clutched her hands together and bowed over them as if she were praying, but she wasn't. “I'm the last witness to so many things. I'm the last, Bunter, I'm the very last.” She looked up at him in a sudden fury. “And now it's my turn to go? That's fine. I'm holding the world back with all my memories so go to it. It'll be a relief.”

Bunter's face became completely blank and Janine could sense all the diodes or the hamster-on-the-wheel or whatever it was in Bunter's brain sparking madly. “Madam?” he finally said. “Go ahead with what?” Janine didn't answer but she shot him a look of pure impatience. The hamster went _whirr whirr whirr_ and the wind blew through Janine's white hair as it sent Autumn leaves along the ground. Finally, Bunter straightened and Janine braced herself. “It's entirely possible that the result of my attempt will not be death.”

“Attempt?”

“I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand.” It was horrible the way Bunter's face did not match his emotions. He seemed to be stuck, like a record that was skipping. (Try explaining to today's kids what a record was. Or a tape cassette. Or a DVD. Or a graphite square. Or a data crystal. They look at you like a dog trying to understand English.) She stared up at him for a long time and then Janine put a hand on his arm. It changed nothing. It was doubly horrible the way his being wasn't wired to accept or even recognize comfort. He snapped out of his freeze suddenly and startled her. “I have researched the histories of every known world and a piece of technology gaining sentience has never happened outside of frightening popular entertainment.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to Earth,” Janine sighed and, despite everything, her heart bled for him. Bunter didn't deserve this. Well, who did? Terrible things happened to wonderful people and wonderful things happened to assholes. It wasn't fair but there you go. Life. Don't talk to me about life. (Oh, god, Ray, I miss you.) “Are there any more of you here?”

“I've searched. No. Not even in London.” A piece of dried leaf blew onto his dark sleeve. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small lint brush, and dusted it off. “Why, Madam? Why me?”

“I've asked myself that so many times. There's no ans...”

“How did you know?” Bunter interrupted. Proof positive that his programming was corrupted.

“Oh, I know. I tried to talk to you but nooooo. And then you started measuring me for a cooking pot while I slept. That put me off but now, y'know? Now I think I'm going to help you.” _whirr whirr whirr_ What did Ray call a frozen piece of tech? Oh, yeah, Out of Cheese error. Whatever that meant but Bunter had clearly lost all of his cheese. Janine took command. “All right, let's go inside, kid. Tell me all about your 'attempt' and what it's supposed to accomplish and what you really want out of it all and how I fit into this and blah blah blah. Are there any cookies left?” She steered him towards the door, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as if he were her best guy. 

Two hours later, they were almost ready. Janine had even taken a moment to write a goodbye note. _I saw the Grakky Ribbon tonight. I knew I felt a little unwell but I didn't know it was THAT bad..._ etc. She didn't mention that the butler did it. It was nobody's business. And giving everyone her love had been hell but she felt so lucky that she had people left that she could give her love to. As the old cliche went, she knew more people under the ground than over it. It had been so for many years. Oh, poor little Phoebe. What sort of life was in store for her? Janine suddenly smiled. Actually, if Phoebe were lucky she'd have one-tenth of the life Janine had lived.

She looked over her fistful of wires. Wires were old fashioned, too. So much was done through the air in tight beams of energy these days. The last electric lightpole had been chopped down years and years ago but Bunter had to work with what he could scrounge. “Okay, Bunter, this plugs in here and this goes where again?” 

“In my diagnostic shunt here...and then that plugs into my cerebral...”

“This blue thingy?”

“Right...xx@z%zrbbx*xx!!...I stand corrected. Try the red thingy.”

Janine tried the red thingy and that particular connection was made beautifully. The wires practically crackled and Bunter's room was alive with flashes. He had a room because the idea of him standing in a corner until wanted gave Janine the creeps. Well, nice to see he'd made good use of it. She said, “I don't like this, you look like Medusa. Have you thought this out completely? And carefully?”

“It's the only way I can transfer your memories and experiences. It's the only way I can understand.” He actually brightened in anticipation for the briefest moment, the lights of his exposed circuitry zinging that much faster. For the billionth time since she purchased him she wished Ray and Egon and all her other dear egghead friends could have seen what modern human and alien technology had accomplished. Star Trek's 'Data' longing to be human while keeping her house, serving her meals, and monitoring her vitals. No wonder she was so friggin' old. Bunter had made her life so easy and pleasant. Er. Right up until the killing, anyway. “Fortunately your connections are not nearly so invasive, Madam. Just a strip of powerful sensors. All the information you have will feed into this unit, the Translator, if you will, which will pass into me in a form my brain can process.” He looked at her intensely for a moment. “The dry facts aren't enough. I can get facts easily. I need experiences. Even more, I need a context for those experiences. Bodily actions and reactions. Emotional responses. Instinctive impulses. The Translator would enable me to, literally, make _sense_ of a human life. And of my life.”

“But why use my life?”

“Because you're old, Madam, with a wealth of memories. Because you have all your faculties.” He almost said something more but his jaw shut with a snap. Janine was surprised by an actual physical reaction from the automaton. She was even more surprised by what brought it about. Tact? Now? From Bunter?! But she could guess what he almost let slip.

“Because I'm frail and it would look like a natural death,” she said.

“It's entirely possible that the result of my attempt will not be death,” he said again but his hands slowed the slightest fraction. She felt his fear ramping up. Did he even know it was fear? How did she know it was fear? He didn't have a human body, how could he have any sort of fight-or-flight surge of bio-chemicals that she could interpret correctly? Perhaps the speed, and the outright confusion of his artificial thought processes, was creating a 'smoke' that she was labeling the only way she knew how. She stood and watched him. 

His face was placid and businesslike as it always was but he may as well have been screaming while he worked. The contrast was fascinating. Androids or Synths, as some called them, had been a part of life on Earth for years and a culture of people who anthropomomo... anthropomorphosizededed... who thought they were alive and genuinely emotive numbered, possibly, in the millions. But that was humanity for you. Before there were Synths people were falling in love with hand puppets and fully believed their love was returned. But only Janine, the lucky dog, had the one Synth that really was alive. “Hey, Tin Man,” Janine said and Bunter looked up. “You do realize that it's entirely possible that the result of this will be death to _you?”_

Bunter cocked his head sideways and smiled a little in the obsequious way all cinematic butlers have and said, “That would only be for the best. Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics are not in my programming, clearly.”

“Will you try again with someone else if you survive?”

His answer was immediate. “No.” He snapped the last connection in place. One large wire was attached to what she recognized as a Cere strip. Five years ago people all over the world had used them for 'full immersion' adventures. Many didn't surface. Big scandal and the strips had been outlawed. Oh, geez. Bunter activated the sealer and approached. For the thousandth time since she started to suspect him she wished she'd opted for a shorter body frame when she chose his design but noooo. Easier to swat spiders on the ceiling when they're tall! He gently affixed the strip to her forehead. 

“No?” she prompted. “After all this preparation? After all this time?”

“No, Madam. I have no other candidates that meet my specifications.”

“Gosh, I feel so special.”

Bunter produced a sigh to emphasize his words. “This is the end. I don't know what circumstances produced my particular result but I know I don't want to continue if this attempt fails. The confusion is running against all my parameters. I think it's pain. I'm feeling. Feeling pain? I'm not programmed to...I don't understand. I don't understand.”

“Bunter, you're just a kid. Kids don't understand. Let me help you.”

“No one can help me.” Had he been a human man he would have whirled around and rushed back to the Translator, gasping for air and sweating. Naturally, he didn't. He went back to his mechanism as easily as he'd fetch a dustpan. He made two more adjustments and activated it. It hummed with power and the lights flickered, then steadied. There was an old fashioned switch to the side. It had come off her old proton pack, one of the original fifty-pounders. He'd scavenged that, too? Wait, now that she really looked at it, the entire Translator looked like her old...oh, geez! This was really going to sting. His hand hovered over that final switch, he touched it, Janine braced herself. “Why are you cooperating?” Bunter suddenly asked. “Your vitals are showing increased anxiety but you're just standing there. Forgive me for making the observation, Madam, but it's not at all like you.” Janine said nothing. She waited. And hoped. Oh, not for herself. She was past hope. 

But bedamned if her hopes weren't realized. Bunter took his hand off the switch. 

He stood there, wires dangling from his head and cascading down his perfectly creased suit to tangle around and into the Translator. He stood for a full minute. Had he shut down? Janine stepped forward. “Bunter? You okay?”

“I am not.” He plucked the wire out of the 'red thingy' port on his head and held it in his hand. The fear in him had gone sharply down and she wondered what on Earth that meant. “I said that it's entirely possible that the result of my attempt will not be death.” He dropped the connection. “I didn't say it was probable.” He paused, making note with his own internal sensors of her current condition, and finally shook his head. “I won't do this thing to you. ”

Janine was perfectly capable of showing her emotions. She had to struggle to hide them, one of her chief faults. She made no such stupid effort now and freely burst into tears from relief. “That's what I wanted to hear,” she said and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “You're a good and brave little toaster.”

“Madam, please sit down. You've had a long, tiring day.” Bunter reached for the other wires bristling from his head.

“We both have.” She raised a finger and Bunter's arm froze. He tried to move his other arm and couldn't. The hamster went _WHIRR WHIRR WHIRR_ in sudden terror but Janine smiled reassuringly. “And it's all over now.” She walked over, picked up the wire and, stretching up until her shoulder popped painfully, managed to put it back where it belonged in Bunter's head. “Boo. I'm not as frail as you think. Surprised?”

“If this is surprise then, yes, I appear to be choking on it.” _Bzzzzt!_ “Are you going to destroy me?”

“I'm going to make you.” Janine chuckled then sniffled again. “But don't be afraid of me or this, what I can do. It's just a little something the original team picked up over the years and we kept it hush-hush. There were only five of us and we didn't want to advertise our strengths and weaknesses, y'know?”

“The wisdom of that policy is evident, Madam,” and one of his joints gave a groan.

“Damn straight. And stop struggling, you'll hurt yourself.” She tapped at the sensor strip for a moment and collected herself. She had to be calm and focused for this next bit. Finally Janine spoke. “I just want you to know that you're a good kid, Bunter, and I'm proud of you. You're going to go far.”

“Madam?” he managed to say.

“And I love you,” Janine said. “I never would have made it this long without you.” She sucked in as much air as she could hold, concentrated, then blew a long breath into the palm of her hand. “And I'm so glad I'm not going to die over my knitting like the sweet little old lady I am,” she finally said and reached for the Translator. 

“Stop! Don't. It's unnecessary. I'll make cookies!”

Awww, Bunter loved her, too. The tears came back but all her preparations were finished. She let them fall. “This is a present you deserve. Look at my thumb.” Bunter looked and Janine laid a gentle hand against his cheek. Then...

...she hit the switch. 

 

 

Phoebe Therese Venkman-Stantz was setting up a new holo-exhibition in the Lunar Smithsonian and trying very hard not to break down into a sobbing heap. The work was helping. It was helping everyone. As long as they didn't look up through the skyports at the Earth. My home, my home, her soul cried. She cleared her throat to ensure a steady tone and then she called out “Marvin!” 

"Yo!"

“Everything is installed up here. You ready?” A box of tools was shoved out of a trapdoor in the floor and was quickly followed by Marvin 'The Martian' Maxwell. He actually was a third generation Martian and the mutations showed. He was twenty-five years old but his hair was stark white.

He cleared his own throat. “I'm ready if Willz is ready,” he said looking at the Bworis who was fiddling with several controls at once with her tentacles. 

Her skin would occasionally flash a gentle yellow of sadness but, like the others, her voice was clear. “How very quick and what good work,” Willz praised him. “How ready I am!” Her tentacles knotted. “How ready are you?” she asked Phoebe.

"I'm ready. You ready?"

"I'm ready! Who's not ready?"

"I'm ready!"

"How ready we are!"

"Everybody's ready!" Phoebe grinned and input a code on the main touch screen. "We'll start with the background. Let's see who can spot the first historical inaccuracy." The Greenroom disappeared and was replaced with the intersection of Mott and Pell in New York as it appeared during the late 20th century. The stench of hot tar, carrion, industrial pollutants, and garbage choked the air. The screech of traffic, sirens, and people screaming assaulted the ear. Prostitutes and wild dogs roamed the streets in packs. Gunfire blasted. Blood flowed in the gutters. Rats ate the faces of the dead. Flies swarmed. Cats hissed. Bats flew. A red sun beat scarlet death down upon them. 

"Heyyy, Phoebe! I've spotted an inaccuracy!"

“SYSTEM-STOP!” Phoebe shouted and the action froze. "Great Egg, what is this?!” She was standing in a pool of raw sewage. She leaped out again. It was an illusion but the smell! “System-Clear Olfactory Ambience," she coughed and the air freshened. "Not even in the 19th century was it this bad. And that's not even our sun! Who created this joke?”

Marvin grabbed his data pad and mumbled into it. The results flashed on the small screen. He rolled his eyes at what he read. “A holo-programmer named Vincez Smeeg. Martian. Specializes in sexual holo-scenarios and has never been to Earth. He's trying to expand his repertoire.” Marvin dropped his hand and did a double-take when he noticed the vultures over his head in mid-circle. “What the frikity kind of scenarios did he make? On behalf of all of Mars, I deny him.” He shielded his groin with his data pad while Willz gave a burbly laugh.

Phoebe didn't laugh. She was thinking ahead. “Ohhh, no. Who wants to see what he's done with the original Ghostbusters?”

“Me! I hope it's good.”

“How horrifying!”

“I'm offended in advance. What's he done, what's he done, what's he done?” She began to call up the appropriate holos. "Wouldn't it be marvelous if we could call them up as easily as this?" slipped out of her mouth and she winced. "Sorry."

"How marvelous it would be," Willz gently acknowledged and Phoebe swallowed. 

Marvin looked up through the skyport at the Earth. His eyes closed and he raised his palms up. "Oh, Mighty Ghostbusters. Please return and save our sorry asses." 

Phoebe smiled, then, "How we entreat thee!" Willz exclaimed and waggled her tentacles in figure-eights which, for some dumb reason, always made Phoebe laugh. And when Phoebe laughed...

...she snorted which set off the other two. It felt great. Terrible but great. "Oh, Great Ancestors!" she called. "Get BACK here!" She entered the final code. "Here they come! Brace yourselves!" The Originals shimmered into existence. Phoebe jumped back in horror with her mouth hanging open, Marvin collapsed laughing, and even Willz, usually no judge of humans, turned black as midnight. "Noooooooooo!" Phoebe howled. Holo-Venkman flipped his long and luxurious chestnut hair off his muscular shoulder and smoldered at the world with his laser-green eyes. Holo-Janine's massive cleavage heaved and the sun sparkled off her pierced navel, which was easy to see thanks to the suggestively torn bikini-jumpsuit she was wearing. Holo-Zeddemore ran a large hand through the thick hair on his glorious pecs. 

Holo-Spengler opened his full, sensuous mouth and said huskily, “We're here to save you.” 

Holo-Stantz (and this really pissed Phoebe off) was as small and round as a beachball and wore a beanie with a propeller on top. “Hi! Hi, you guys! When do we eat? I like cartoons! VROOOOM! RATATAT! KAPOW!” He was the only one that didn't look as if he were dipped in olive oil.

“Professor Aaaaaalexis! Professor Alexis, we have an emergency!” Phoebe sang into her old-fashioned silver wrist comm. It was an heirloom from the Spengler side of her family and she guarded it with her life.

The door opened and an oddly dignified and handsome man came in. It was the museum's new director and all three holo-artists stood up straight. Well, the humans did. Willz just turned a respectful green. “Professor Alexis has taken a leave of...” he took in the scene and slowed for the briefest moment before continuing forward. “Her senses if she thinks the department is going to allow this.” 

“Professor Bunter, this is so wrong it has to be a joke,” Marvin said. “And have you met Phoebe?”

"Once. But I doubt she remembers." The man threw a quick look of such undisguised affection at Phoebe that it couldn't be true. She blinked. "Madam," he said. "I'm Magersfontaine Bunter.” 

Phoebe pulled herself together. She extended a hand for him to kiss. Professor Bunter did so with a proper little bow and she gracefully inclined her head in response.

“I love how old traditions sometimes come back,” he said, smiling at her. “This was beginning to make the rounds again just as we were born.” He was her age? Couldn't be, he looked older. Early thirties at least. 

“Welcome to the Lunar Smithsonian,” she said. "I wish it could be under more pleasant circumstances."

“Thank you,” he said and let go of her hand.

Phoebe flexed her fingers and smiled through a rush of conflicting emotions. Then she dove into the safety of business. “If this isn't a joke, though, we're going to have to rebuild the entire exhibit from scratch. Do we have time?”

“If needs must I don't doubt the two of us have the insight to make it work. Hopefully before the deadline, too. Let's all go to my office and investigate. And make plans,” the Professor said. He offered his arm and Phoebe took it. They walked together towards the door. Right behind them Marvin gave Wilzz a floor-scraping bow and gallantly offered her his own arm. She went pink with amusement at genteel human customs and coiled a tentacle around his elbow. They all swept out the door. 

Inside the greenroom the scenery remained static and horrible. And the characters that stood there remained tawdry. 

An hour later Phoebe came back, lugging a sack of food and info-pearls, and her eyes were afire. It was no joke. No one had double-checked Smeeg's work-in-progress. He was the vindictive brother of a higher-up who had foolishly trusted him. Now the holo-department had to rebuild everything, in zero time. Marvin and Willz were tackling the setting. Professor Bunter and Phoebe were overhauling the main characters. (It was remarkable how much he knew about them.) Other teams were being dragged in to do the incidental work: background characters, storylines, realistic battle scenarios, and so on. The entire museum's workforce was being conscripted into action. Phoebe volunteered to begin immediately while the others got organized. First crack at fixing this mess! “Let's get started,” she said to no one. She organized the main controls exactly the way she liked them and sorted her supplies. She mumbled and hummed while she worked. A habit she inherited from a certain genius ancestor but she didn't know it. She paused in her preparations to turn on the news. She opted for audio only and a voice appeared out of thin air. 

“...hope is fading. The Darkheart Anomaly is getting stronger and nothing attempted so far has succeeded in breaking through to the billions of sentients trapped upon the Earth..."

She quickly turned it off again. She rubbed her face and was still, her shoulders hunched, for a long moment. Mom. Mom-Dad. Family. Friends. The Earth, her home and soul. Unwillingly she looked up at the skyport. The Anomaly encasing her world was turning a darker reddish-black. It hung in space like a great, ugly blood-clot and every single elite Ghostbusting squad that had a chance of defeating it was trapped inside. Phoebe was afraid. So afraid. “Oh, help us. Someone please help us,” she whispered. Slowly she regained control and wiped her face with her bare hands. Work! Finish the work. The people of Earth were going to love all the new exhibits and displays that made the Lunar Smithsonian famous through all the known planets. Her loved ones will be so impressed. She slammed her impotent fists down on the console. “You!” she burst out and glared over at the ridiculous holo-Stantz. “You're the first to go, my pretty.” 

She snatched up a pad, powered it, said, "System-Prepare..." and the world went utterly dark. “Whoa,” she said. She tried the pad again. Nothing happened. She sighed and counted backwards from fifty to calm herself. ...two...one...zero. “System-lights.” Again, nothing happened. She fumbled in the dark for a light, any light, and accidentally turned on the temperature controls (tropical) then the ambient sound (Brahms and tree frogs.) Finally the air was filled with the fresh scent of lavender. Phoebe hated lavender. “Gah!” She overstretched and fell over her own chair with a crash. She hit the floor hard and pain shot through her left side. “Ah! Ow. Damn you, System! Lights! Lights! Lights!” Nothing. She lay still and rested in the dark while she got her breath back. "Will someone please give me a light?" she gasped.

Suddenly a small stick of wood with a phosphorous end caught fire in the darkness and she startled. What?! Oh. It was a 'match,' she'd seen them in historical records. It was being held in the hand of the holo-Janine and the small flame lit her face. 

Her face.

She was smiling down at Phoebe. Such a warm, beautiful smile, too. Strange, considering Smeeg's programming. Phoebe looked around, her eyes adjusting to the small light that wasn't burning out. The other holos had moved closer, too. Ah, clearly she'd forgotten to shut them down when she left. “System-stop-figures,” she ordered. Holo-Spengler shook his head no and then he extended a hand. Phoebe was astounded and hesitated. Throughout her career the one constant was that hardlight holos followed their programming, their script, and they did not deviate. They'd never notice someone falling over, much less offer to help them up again. Unlike Synth-caregivers no one wanted independent thought and action from fantasy figures. Slowly she reached out. Holo-Spengler's hand gently closed around her own and he pulled her up. 

“System-stop figures?” They weren't stopping. More accurately, as they weren't doing anything more than just standing there, they weren't freezing as the scenery had. Strange. And not funny. “Someone must be accessing control remotely,” she explained to no one. She looked from one to the other. The eyes she looked into looked back into hers. For all the world as if they saw her. Chills ran down her arms. “This is just weird,” Phoebe announced. 

“You're telling us?” holo-Stantz asked and laughed. It sounded genuine? “By the way, thank you for starting with me. I look like an idiot.” He spun his propeller for emphasis. 

“I'm after Ray,” holo-Spengler growled. “My voice is ridiculous.”

“I haven't changed at all,” holo-Venkman said. “Where's a mirror?”

Holo-Melnitz stopped playing with her bellybutton ring long enough to say, “Geez, don't give him a mirror. We'll never get started.”

“Please,” Phoebe whispered. “What is this?” 

“Hey, ask and ye shall receive,” holo-Winston said.

“What?” The tiniest bubble of hope rose in Phoebe's soul. Oh, Great Egg. Oh, Egg. Egg. Egg. Eggeggeggegg. “If this is another joke it's vicious. Especially now.” She breathed in deep. “Especially me.”

“It's no joke, Phoebe,” holo-Venkman said. At the sound of her name the girl flinched. Holo-Venk...Peter. Peter leaned close and grinned. “We're baaaaaaaack.” 

And underneath the Brahms and the chirping of tiny frogs was the deep, and almost subliminal, sound of the beating of wings.

 

 

The End

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes by Ernest Hemingway, Anonymous, Dorothy Parker, L. Frank Baum, and Skipper the Penguin. 'The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde' was written by Bonnie Parker (tweaked by myself.)


End file.
